


My Letter To You

by MeshMosh



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14014479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeshMosh/pseuds/MeshMosh
Summary: One could say that 8 years is a long enough time to do many things. Maybe try a sport, learn an instrument or paint something good enough to compete with Van Gogh.Or, at the very least, get over past lovers.I can confidently say that I have done neither of those things.But it's hard to forget someone that, after 8 years of silence, suddenly shows up unannounced.Someone that, after breaking your heart, demands to go on a date with you.Yeah, as if.





	1. Birthday Cake

Feelings are a hassle.

This is something I have been telling myself for many years. Since I was 11, to be specific. I wasn’t very happy as a kid. I wasn’t very sad, either. Mostly, I was just pissed off. 10 year old me took no shit, and gave no shit. It was the perfect arrangement.

But this isn’t about 10 year old me, it’s about 11 year old me. The one who fucked it all up.

How so much could go to shit in just one year is beyond me, but thinking back on it, I’m still not quite sure what went wrong. You see, I used to have a boyfriend. His name was Tweek Tweak and he was the school’s spaz, an anxious boy with a habit of twitching. He also drank a lot of coffee, way too much coffee for a 10 year old if you ask me or literally anyone else that isn’t his parents.

He had the sweetest smile, but seeing it was a rarity. He only smiled when he was calm and most days consisted of him overthinking things and stressing out about it. When you did get to see it however, it was absolutely worth the wait and effort. The toothy grin displayed on Tweek’s face whenever we were playing with Stripe, watching red Racer, or simply holding hands, I liked to pretend that smile was only for my eyes to see. But I’m getting a bit off track, the point is, it felt like what me and Tweek had was special. That _I_ was special.

Despite the annoying fact that I haven’t seen Tweek in _years_ , his picture has never left my mind, probably never will. His eyes shared their colour with the late night sky, shining as bright as the stars. His hair was as golden as the sun and a bit messy, but then again, it wouldn’t be Tweek if it wasn’t messy. I can still faintly feel the butterflies I felt when he held my hand- wait, no, now I’m _definitely_ getting off track here. What I meant to say is, I really liked Tweek. Well, I liked him as much as a 10 year old with literally zero prior experience in the romance department was capable of.

I didn’t always have feelings for him though, that happened about two months after we had started fake dating. That’s right, we started out as a fake couple. South Park is a weird town and sometimes I wonder if all of this is actually real or if it’s a fever dream and I’ll wake up in a few hours. One weird thing that the townspeople of South Park has done is force two 10 year old kids into a gay relationship, which is how Tweek and I became a couple. We figured that it would be easier to please the town by staying together rather than starting unnecessary drama by breaking up.

After two months of loving glances, hand holding and pet names I found myself completely under the spell that was Tweek Tweak. Having spent one year together as a couple, fake or not, we were as close as could be. At least that’s what I thought at the time.

I have never been one for celebrations, especially not my birthday. I’m perfectly content with celebrating in the comfort of my own home with the presence of only my family, but this time I had a boyfriend. If anyone asked I would lie and say that I wasn’t excited, that I didn’t care whether Tweek brought me a gift or not. That was all lies though, an effort on my part to not shatter my image as the most apathetic kid in class.

I still remember having spent all day wondering what Tweek would give me. I never used to feel anything except for annoyance before, but Tweek changed that. Being with Tweek made me happy, hell just thinking about Tweek made me happy. Imagining what he could possibly get me for my birthday made me excited. These were all new feelings for me, but I didn’t mind. It actually felt kind of nice to experience something new.

I waited patiently all day for my walk home with Tweek, if he was gonna give me a gift, what better time than our walk home from school?

 I thought I knew Tweek, _I really did_ . I _thought_ that when he didn’t immediately take my hand as we left the school it was because he was nervous about the gift. I _thought_ that when he suddenly stopped walking it was to finally reveal what he had bought me. I _thought_ that when he wouldn’t look me in the eyes it was just his anxiety acting up. When he finally spoke, I stopped thinking.

 “Craig, I’m breaking up with you.” 

* * *

 

My name is Craig Tucker. Today is my birthday. When I woke up this morning I got one gift from my family. My parents had saved up enough money to buy me a telescope, which was without a doubt somewhere at the top on the list of gifts I’m happy to have recieved. My mom had made a small cake for us all to share at the table. They thankfully didn’t throw me a party, and if anything, _that_ was the best gift I could have ever received.

As of right now, I’m standing in the middle of my driveway, waiting for Token’s car to nonchalantly pull up by my house like they haven’t been planning this evening for weeks. “ _Them”_ being my friends, Token, Jimmy and Clyde. I know that they have planned a surprise party to celebrate my birthday, which is why I packed my stuff early and got ready to leave after dinner. I would rather choke on a jar of pickles than risk them catching me unprepared for anything.

I have never been one to like surprises, in fact, I despise them. My philosophy has always been to treat life as if it was a car ride. The easiest and least demanding way to live is with careful planning and routine, like driving a car down a straight, plain road with a clear goal in mind. If I were to describe the road my car travels along, I would say that it’s one of those long roads in the middle of nowhere with no end in sight. It’s one of those roads that children complain about being stuck on for hours because there is nothing entertaining for them to look at outside their window. This probably sounds like a really boring road, but that’s the point. Nice and boring, just the way I like it. Now let’s imagine someone started drilling holes in the road. The ground would get uneven with all the bumps and holes, making anyone driving on it uncomfortable. That’s what surprises are, uneven and unwelcome bumps on the road.

The thing about surprise parties though, is that they’re not much of a surprise when you’ve been dragged to them for 7 years.

I’ve been standing out here for about 10 minutes now, can they hurry the fuck up? It’s snowing and I do not appreciate the feeling of cold snow sticking to my pants, I’m not in the mood to get frostbite so if Token’s car doesn’t round that corner in 5 minutes I’m leaving. It wouldn’t be the first time that the idea of just heading inside to watch reruns of Red Racer seemed a lot more appealing than being pulled around town to god-knows-where, only to end up watching some shitty movie in Token’s basement and pass out on the floor. We always end up celebrating my birthday at Token’s, mainly because I never want to comply with whatever obnoxious activity they have planned.

It’s as the saying goes, _third time’s the charm_ . When 3 birthdays in a row ultimately end in disasters you didn’t even think were _possible_ , it just serves to prove that your friends cannot be trusted to do something as simple as planning a birthday party.

For your information, _I_ had nothing to do with those fiascos, it was all Clyde now that I think about it. Definitely all Clyde. One of them was literally all Clyde, he for some reason thought it would be fun if we all dressed up as him, mask and all, and walked around town.

I may as well remind you that it was still _my_ birthday, but this was before I knew that my friends were as good at planning as garbage, so I agreed to do it.

My memory is kinda hazy, since I have done my very best to repress that specific moment, but if I recall correctly it was thanks to Clyde’s “Awesome social skills” (Clyde’s words, not mine), that we ended up as performers at a stripclub in Denver with no money to go back home. Calling my mom to tell her that she had to pick me up from a stripclub in Denver was something I do _not_ want to experience ever again.

Although, it still wasn’t as bad as Peru.

The second debacle I had the fortune to witness was when I turned 14. Clyde seems to have a thing for costumes because we had to dress up that year as well. We weren’t all Clyde that time though, or Token, Jimmy or me. No, that year Clyde wanted us to put on fursuits he had bought on a sale somewhere. I don’t know what store on earth he went to where they had _fursuits_ . I certainly don’t _care_ why he spent his entire life savings on _fursuits_ . I do however  know _why_ they were on sale. The suits were old, gross and smelled really bad, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he said someone died in them.

But, back to the story- I refused to wear one. There is no way anyone will ever find me wearing something as vile as those furry costumes while I’m still breathing, I still have some dignity.

Well -to cut the long story short- let’s just say that my video camera has footage of my 3 costume clad friends stumbling through the woods in an attempt to outrun South Park’s police force, available for viewing to anyone with 20 dollars, tipping not included.

When I turned 15 we skipped the costumes and went straight to the wreck of a plan Clyde had thought up. It wasn’t even that much of a “plan”, we were sitting in Token’s kitchen when Clyde asked Jimmy if he dared him to do the cinnamon challenge.

“No I don’t d-d-dare you.”

“Hahaha you’re so wild, Jimmster.”

Token probably tried to stop Clyde at some point, but at the time I was too busy not giving a fuck to even feign some kind of interest. It -as alway - ended in disaster. Clyde was driven to the ER and we spent the evening at Hell’s Pass.

Just remembering this shit is making my excitement about this even less existent.

“Hey, earth to the birthday boy,” I can hear Token’s voice call out. His car is parked right by the sidewalk, snow slowly starting to pile on the hood.

“Hey,” I answer, making my way over to the passenger seat. A sudden chill sweeps through the air and I can feel myself shudder. Better weather would be pretty damn appreciated.

“I yelled like 5 times before you answered, you alright?” Token asks, worry apparent in his voice like he has the right to know what’s on my mind, which he doesn’t.

“I’m fine, just tired and cold. Let’s leave already, I want to get this over with so I can go home and watch reruns of Red Racer with Stripe,” it would be the perfect evening, just me and Stripe. We could share a fruit salad, Stripe loves fruit.

“Wow Craig, I never knew you were such a romantic,” Token says with a laugh while I take my seat inside and lean back with a purposely loud sigh, I might as well make my annoyance known. It’s not that I mind hanging out with my friends, I actually happen to enjoy most of our escapades, stupid as they may be. No, I just don’t like all the unnecessary attention simply not dying for another 365 days garners, like it’s an achievement.

The inside of Token’s car is really nice, it’s so clean you wouldn’t believe that the ones using it are 4 teenage boys. Token got both his car and license the day he turned 18, which was just a few months ago. We all decided to celebrate by having him drive us around town in his new car which, thinking back on it, seems like it should have been more like a chore for Token than anything.

After the ride around town we crashed at Token’s place and made a music mix to play in his car. We all picked a few songs to put on it so there wouldn’t ever be a single quiet car ride, not that I think there ever would be anyway, considering Clyde and Jimmy. But because of that, the sound of music always accompanies us in the car.

Except for now apparently, since the mix is currently not playing.

“You always seem lost in thought on your birthday, you know?” Token sighs and turns his head towards me. No, I don’t know that. I’m rarely lost in thought because I rarely care about anything, _especially_ not my birthday.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” it was an honest answer, I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what he’s talking about either.

I never noticed before, but the little pig plush he has by the window is really quite interesting.

“You really need to let it go. Keeping grudges for 8 years isn’t helping anyone, least of all yourself, _birthday boy,”_ alright maybe I _do_ know what he’s talking about, but that doesn’t mean I _want_ to talk about it.

As of today, it has been exactly 7 years since my friends and I started this ridiculous birthday tradition. It was apparently Clyde’s idea to hold a surprise party for me on my 12th birthday, his reasoning being that it was a shame how I never celebrated it with my family. I’m positive that’s not the whole story though, Clyde is pretty easy to read. I suppose the party was Clyde’s way of trying to cheer me up, since I didn’t look forward to my birthday. I still never look forward to my birthday, but the parties do serve as a way of distracting myself from my own thoughts, which I can appreciate. But as soon as I get home, alone in my room, it’s all I can think about. _He’s_ all I can think about.

“Who says I’m holding a grudge? It’s been 8 years, I think I should be over it by now,” this is not a conversation I’m in the mood for. At all. I thought my friends were supposed to _distract_ me, not _remind_ me.

On this day 8 years ago, on my _birthday_ 8 years ago, Tweek Tweak broke up with me. He just dumped me for no reason on my _birthday_ , which is already enough for anyone to keep a grudge. But it doesn’t end there, no, the day after he crushed my heart into smithereens he _moved_ . That’s right, the asshole broke up with me, _on my birthday_ , and then just fled the fucking town. He didn’t even tell me he was moving and apparently “forgot” his phone in South Park, which meant I had no way of contacting him.

I didn’t get to know _why_ he even moved until 5 months after the incident. My family was preparing for our own move, dad loading the truck with various boxes. It had all happened very suddenly, one day I was playing video games with my friends in my room, the next day I was sorting those very same games and other knick knacks into multiple boxes. We didn’t move far or anything, just a few streets closer to the school, which was completely unnecessary in my opinion.

Anyway- my dad was flinging in boxes through the back of the truck like he had something to prove, then for some reason thought it was a great idea to bring up my ex-boyfriend as small talk. I was trying to stack the boxes he so graciously threw in, when he suddenly blurted out the missing piece of the chaotic puzzle inside my head.

“Don’t look so glum, Craig. At least we’re not moving because of a divorce like the Tweaks,” he said it like it was the most casual piece of information he could have put on the table. I hadn’t known any if that. Tweek never told me about the divorce.

Apparently, after his parents got divorced, Tweek moved away from South Park with his mom. I hadn’t known anything about the bad relationship between Tweek’s parents, he never uttered a single word about it, which left a sour feeling in my stomach. If he couldn’t even tell me about his parents, what else was he hiding?

I can feel the scowl adorning my face as I bitterly recall the memories, and I’m guessing Token noticed it too.

“ _I think I should be over it by now_ , yeah you should be over it by now, but it’s blatantly obvious that you’re _not_ ,” Token mocks and puts his focus back on the road. Tired of this topic, I decide to stay quiet instead of humoring Token. The rest of the car ride is pleasantly quiet, Token turns on the music at some point and I close my eyes.

A sharp turn jolts me awake, we’re driving past the gates to Token’s house and I can see the lights in his room turned off. Are they seriously going to try to surprise me? I know that they’re idiots, but this is dumb. Token stops right inside the gate and tells me to get inside while he parks. I unwillingly make my way to the door and step inside. Token’s room is just up the stairs, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take my sweet time getting there. The wall up the stairs is embellished with various photos. The photos are mostly of Token, I recognize a few since I was actually there when they were taken. The only recent addition to the wall, at least that I notice, is a picture of him and his car.

When I reach the door to Token’s room, instead of actually pushing it open, I stand still in front of it and listen closely for a few minutes. There are whispers on the other side and I’m just barely able to make out what they say.

“ _What’s taking him so long? Did he get lost?”_

_“Y-y-yeah, this house is pretty b-b-big after all, you should have sh-sho-show-escorted him here,”_

_“Come on guys, Craig isn’t 10,”_

I’ll take that as my cue to enter, and slam open the door. Clyde shrieks and falls off the desk he had been perched upon. What were they trying to do here? They’re all staring at me so I decide to announce my presence, “I have arrived.”

The evening doesn’t exactly go as planned, well, at least I don’t _think_ they had planned for Clyde to twist his ankle when he stood up to walk to the bathroom. His fall managed to knock over the bottle of soda on the floor, which in turn knocked over all our cups. The floor was a mess, our clothes was a mess and we didn’t have any more soda. We decided that’s a good time for the party to end. Token offers to drive us all home, I get the front seat since it’s my birthday, despite Clyde’s insistent whining. The ride home consists mostly of Jimmy’s jokes, which are always appreciated.

I get inside the comfort of my own home just barely after 11, and close the door behind me with a sigh. It’s not that I don’t like my friends, but being outside is simply exhausting. The lights are still turned on but I can hear slight snoring from my parents room. My hand moves to turn off the lights as I climb the stairs to my room. Passing the slightly ajar door of Tricia’s room, I can see that she’s also asleep.

I quietly enter my room and push the door closed behind me. The tiredness is overwhelming as I sit down on my bed, I’m getting old. I wasn’t excited about my 18th birthday. I don’t look forward to turning 19 either, or 20, or 21. With every year added to my age, a year is added to my time away from _him_. I have tried to forget, and sometimes it works. But even if I forget for a while, as soon as my birthday rolls around, my mind drifts back to him.

I tilt my head to glance at the shelf next to the bed. The shelf is filled with various knick knacks, it looks like a cluttered mess. I’m not one to throw out old things, which is why most of my toys as a child are still on display. My gaze travels to the Red Racer figurine. It’s still intact, but has definitely seen better days.

I let my eyes wander over the collection of items I have gathered through the years when they finally land on a certain book. I don’t have to think to know what it is, it’s a photo album from when I was 10. It’s a photo album I made with Tweek.

We thought it would be fun to have a book with pictures of things we liked, it would be a way to store precious memories, lest we forget them. I don’t quite remember what photos we put in the album though, when Tweek broke up with me and moved away I swore to never open it again. Merely remembering Tweek makes me miserable, I don’t want to imagine what seeing a picture of him would cause.

I tear my eyes away from the album and fall back on the bed, there’s no use thinking about this now. I can feel my eyes fluttering closed as I let out a deep breath.

The book was made for us to remember, but all I want to do is forget.


	2. Snickers

One of the worst feelings in the world is being blissfully asleep, without a single care in the world, only to be startled awake by the loud booming also known as my dad’s voice.

I feel arms tugging on my blanket. The day I let this blanket leave my bed is the day I’m being buried, because this blanket will follow me to the grave. I fasten my grip on the edges and pull, this is a war I will win.

I might not be weak, but my dad is definitely stronger. As I start pulling he simply pulls back, with way more strength then me, might I add. In merely a fraction of a second the blanket is off the bed, but with my grip still tight, I fall face-first to the floor with an “oh, fuck.”

“No son of mine will show up late for work because of bad sleeping habits, get dressed,” he says and walks to leave the room.

Oh yeah, I’m a contributing part of society now. I completely forgot.

“You say that like I’m not your only son.”

He walks back to the door and leans in, a dead serious look in his eyes.

“Maybe so.”

I let out a snicker at the statement and decide that no more words are needed in this exchange. I flip him off and he returns the gesture before walking back downstairs.

When I get to work there will be a uniform waiting for me in a locker, so what I put on now won’t matter unless I care about what those awake at 8 on a Saturday morning think. I get dressed, share some orange slices with stripe, then grab my trusty hat before heading out.

I pass the kitchen to quickly make a sandwich or something, I’d rather be just miserable at work instead of miserable _and_ starving.

Tricia is already seated at the table, for some reason.

“The fuck are you doing up?”

“Good morning to you too asshole, I’m eating breakfast what does it look like?”

“I can see that, I’m not _blind_ , but it’s like 8 on a Saturday morning.”

“It’s a free country.”

Yeah that’s the end of this conversation.

I finish up my sandwich, a basic ham and cheese, then flip Tricia off before leaving, for good measure.

* * *

 

The walk to work was unusually quiet for a walk in South Park, since there seems to never be a single quiet moment in this goddamn town. But I guess I have the time to blame for that, as much as the townsfolk like to cause a ruckus, they apparently don’t like doing it enough to get up before 9.

Just like I was told, my uniform is waiting for me in my locker. It’s nothing special, really, just a white t-shirt and a red apron. After having finished changing, I debate on whether to keep the hat on or not. It’s not much of a debate though, since I knew from the start that I would be wearing this hat even if it got me fired. Putting my stuff in the locker, I find a name tag that I should supposedly be wearing.

“Kraig.”

I can’t tell if this is a misspell or intentional, but at this point I honestly don’t care.

Putting on the name tag, I make my way out of the changing room and sit down on a probably decade old bench. I’m pretty sure someone was supposed to meet me here and show me the ropes, I may act like I know everything but that doesn’t mean I do. There’s no one here though. Great. Really shows how much the boss cares about this place.

You might be wondering why I decided to apply for a job here, since the place obviously sucks. “Here” being South Park’s only cinema, known for its shitty snacks and garbage service. I would add their horrible assortment of movies to the list, but that’s just my personal opinion while the other points are facts.

So _why_ would I pick this job? The answer is pretty obvious. I need money. But not in the “I need to buy that new game” way, no, _I actually need money_ . Ever since I was a kid I’ve wanted to become an astronaut. Silly, I know, but hear me out. It might seem like a mere child’s dream, but I have dedicated myself to this. Space is absolutely amazing, there’s just so much we don’t know about that’s out there. Unraveling those mysteries was my dream as a child -still _is_ my dream- and I’ve worked my ass off to make it come true. It might have started out as just a dream created in a child’s fantasy, but after countless of hours of studying, I think I have earned my place at the top.

You know the saying “hard work pays off”, well that’s complete bullcrap, hard work doesn’t pay shit. It _especially_ doesn’t pay my tuition fees. That’s why I’m stuck working here, I need money for college so I can follow my dreams and become an astronaut.

“Kraig,” suddenly there’s a finger pointing at my name tag, “I’ve always thought it was spelled with a C.”

“No, my name has always been Kraig with a K, it’s short for _can you fuck off_.”

“Doesn’t that start with a C though?”

“Don’t get smart with me McCormick.”

Kenny let’s out a laugh and shoves me aside to sit down on the now unoccupied part of the bench.

“I’m supposed to show you around and shit, we can either sit here for another 10 minutes or get it over with.” Might as well just get it done, it’s not like we’re getting any younger just sitting here. I comply and stand up with a “let’s go.”

After about 30 minutes, Kenny has shown me around the whole building and explained how the machines I’m gonna use work, this mainly being the popcorn machine since my job is to sell snacks. It doesn’t seem too challenging. Apparently the popcorn machine acts up sometimes, but the best remedy to that is a swift kick to its back, other than that there shouldn’t be any problems. At least that’s what Kenny _said_.

I’ve always known that I’m not a people person. I’m very much anti-people, at least if they’re from South Park. When I applied for a job as a cashier, it somehow didn’t occur to me that I would be forced to deal with _those very people_. The time is only 11 and I’m already exhausted. I imagine there will be way more people the later it gets, which is why I’m grateful that my desperate mind was sane enough to pick an early shift instead of one at night.

I don’t mean to say that it’s busy though, no it’s definitely not busy at all. There have been a total of 19 people here in 2 hours, only 11 of which actually went up to me and bought something. But it’s like the saying goes, “quality over quantity”. I may only have gotten 11 customers, but _boy_ were they annoying customers.

One of them was this old lady who kept complaining about us not serving tea, like I could somehow, with the help of her passive aggressive remarks, make tea appear out of thin air. Also, what kind of cinema serves _tea_? Not one in South Park, that’s for sure.

I lean my head down on the counter with a sigh, this is taking way more effort than I thought it would.

My moment of solitude is interrupted by someone looking through the different bags of candy on display, the rustling of plastic being louder now than ever before. I let out a groan and tilt my head up to greet the customer with a smile, well not a smile, but an attempt at a not-frown.

The customer is a boy, maybe boy is a bit generous, he seems to be at least the same age as me. His hair is blonde and messy, does he not own a brush? Not that it looks bad, it’s kinda cute. His eyes are fixed on the display of candy, flicking back and forth between the different treats.

After what felt like 5 years but was probably 5 minutes, he grabs a snickers bar and turns around. The moment I see his face our eyes meet and we both freeze.

Those blue eyes.

I don’t count the seconds, but I can tell it’s been a while when he finally speaks.

“AH-w-what are YOU doing here!?”

I quirk an eyebrow.

“I work here?”

“I can SEE that! I’m not stupid!” He flails his arms around a bit before finishing with “I’m just not _prepared_ for this, not-ggh-not right now!”

“...So you’d be prepared later?”

“Yes! ….no? Gah-I don’t know!”

I stay quiet. I don’t know if he has an explanation ready, but I’m sure as hell waiting for one. After all the pain he’s caused me, I think I deserve an explanation, preferably sprinkled with some apologies.

He doesn’t say anything after that, just kinda stands there, fidgeting with his sleeves. Now that I’m taking a closer look, he doesn’t seem to have changed much over the years. His hair is still as messy as ever, he’s not wearing the same shirt as when he was 10 for obvious reasons, but he still seems to favor green. I stand up straight and notice that he’s about 1 head shorter than me.

“Shortie,” I snicker.

“Wah-you got a problem with that!? God, I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to come here.” This peaks my interest. He went here with someone? Does that mean he’s been here for a while and met some of his old friends already _without_ me knowing?

I’m not jealous, I just think I should have the right to know if he comes back. Just like I deserve an apology, I deserve to know when he’s back so I’ll know _when_ to expect the apology.

As if reading my mind, he quickly chimes in with “I came here with my dad, he-hnng-he thought we should celebrate my return by going to the cinema.” Well that answers all but one question.

“When did you get back?”

“H-huh?”

“When did you get back?” I repeat with a sigh.

“Erk-like, here? Back to South Park? That was-nggh-yesterday!” Oh. So he just got back.

I don’t have anything else to say. I wanted him to apologize, or hell, at least _explain_ himself, but it seems like I’m getting neither of those. Bummer.

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by 2 hands slamming down on the counter.

“I want to go on a date with you!”

What?

Realizing that Tweek can’t _actually_ read my thoughts, I voice my question out loud.

“What?”

“You-hng-you heard me! Don’t act like you didn’t!”

I decide to ask a different question.

“Why?”

Tweek answers so fast my mind barely registers his mouth opening.

“Because I like you!”

Alright this is giving me more questions than answers. Tweek likes me? Like, he _likes_ me? We haven’t met in 8 years so he can’t possibly have garnered those feelings during that time. Did he like me before he moved? But he broke up with me, why would he do that if he liked me? There has to be an ulterior motive.

“Maybe I don’t like you, ever thought of that?” It came out a lot harsher than intended, I have to admit, but I do have the right to be mad.

“I-ggh-I know! So please, go on a date with me!”

Yeah this makes no sense. I’m pretty sure my brain short-circuited at some point, because I try to come up with an answer of any kind but my mind refuses to work with me.

Tweek seems to notice my inability to form words and quickly explains himself.

“I know that-hnn-that you don’t like me! But I want you to like me! So please, go on a date with me!” His cheeks has turned a rosy red by now, I can only imagine how embarrassing this must be.

I’m not about to ease that embarrassment though, he still hasn’t apologized _or_ explained himself. I look him straight in the eyes and curtly answer “no.”

I expected him to cower in shame, to leave the theater, maybe even to cry. None of that happened. Instead, I was met with determined eyes. I only now notice that he’s still holding that snickers bar, oh right, he’s a customer.

I hope he remembered the price of the snickers bar, because when he hands me the money I can barely recall my hands taking it.

He grabs his purchase and turns around, but just before I’m certain he’s about to leave, he looks back at me.

“You know, you remind me of snickers, half sweet, half-nng-nuts!”

Before I get the chance to answer, his head flips around and he runs out.

What the fuck?

* * *

 

The encounter with Tweek was definitely the most eventful thing to happen during my whole shift. When he left so did my sole source of entertainment, seeing the horrified looks on kids when they’re caught shoplifting is only fun so many times. Luckily for me, the shift ended just as I saw what looked like the entire senior center cramming through the doors. Fuck this I’m out of here.

The changing room is empty when I arrive, not that I expect anyone else to be here. I’m pretty sure we’re only 3 people working here at a time, because the boss is a cheapskate and doesn’t want to “waste more money on employees,” as he so delicately put it during our interview.

I walk over to my locker and start changing, my name tag being the first to go. I glance at my reflection in the mirror before continuing, the slightly askew red apron and frown adorning my face explaining this day perfectly. Working here feels like a new kind of low, not that I was anything before, but I still have standards. The sleazy treat displays and probably fake soda really makes you wonder why anyone even comes here, although I guess that’s the perk of being South Park’s only cinema. But that’s just from the customer’s viewpoint, though it’s not like working here is much of an improvement. Finally pulling off my shirt after what felt like 100 years in the hottest part of hell, I let let out a deep breath. Really, why does _anyone_ work here? I’ve been here for barely a day and am already reconsidering my choice.

As if on cue, Kenny opens the door and walks in with a pep in his step, seemingly in a good mood despite having been stuck in this hellhole for multiple hours. I decide to voice my question since now is a time as good as any to ask why on earth he works here.

“Because I’m poor.” Fair enough.

He looks expectantly at me, like there’s something I’m supposed to do, but I pretend not to have gotten the memo. If he wants me to know why he’s in a good mood he’ll have to tell me himself, I couldn’t care less and if he thinks I’m gonna ask then _he’s_ the one who didn’t get the memo.

I don’t have to wait long for him to share the reason for his excitement.

“Saw you talking with Mr. Jittery Wittery earlier, when’d he get back in town?” Figures this was the reason, _gossip_.

I am by no means obligated to answer, but I’d rather skip his instistent pleading since he would find out sooner or later anyway, so I mutter out “yesterday.”

“He’s only been here for a day and you’re already tonguing it out?” He questions with a smirk, and wastes no time adding “that’s true love man.”

“We were absolutely _not_ doing that.” I snarl back, definitely not feeling the heat rise to my cheeks by imagining us doing just that.

“Your face says otherwise, also, everyone could totally hear his confession.” That’s what he gets for fucking _yelling_ it out in _public_.

“Then you should have picked up my answer as well.” I’m not at all in the mood for rumors to spread just because Tweek can’t control his volume during what I would assume was a _private_ conversation.

“You don’t seem too sure about it though. Maybe most people forgot about your behaviour after he left, but I still remember. If you were to care about _my_ humble opinion, I’d say to go for it! He’s here now so why not embrace it.”

Wise words for a person with enough brain cells to count on one hand.

“I don’t care about your opinion though, so piss off.”

He lets out a laugh and responds with “figures,” then puts his hand on the door handle.

“You should still consider it though,” is all he says before exiting the room with a quick wave.

I’m not about to confess that Kenny McCormick has been right about one thing in his entire life, but maybe he’s not completely wrong. While I didn’t expect it to actually happen, I _might_ have hoped -all these year- that Tweek would come back one day. That day is here now.

But that doesn’t change what he did, and it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still pretty damn pissed about it. If he wants my forgiveness, he’s going to have to work for it. He threw my feelings in the trash like they were nothing, and now he wants me back? Please.

If Tweek wants me to like him, he’s going to work for it.


	3. Gummy Bears

After Kenny left I rammed my stuff into the locker and hastily made my way outside. This day had already been eventful enough to last me _at least_ another year, the comfort of my own plain, boring room had never been more enticing. Sure, I expected to be mentally drained from it being my first day at work, let alone having to _socialize_ at said work. What I _didn’t_ expect was Tweek showing up. My to-do list consisted of 3 points: Go to work, work, go home from work. It had seemed so simple. Seeing Tweek was definitely not on my to-do list. Hell, if anything, it was on my _wishlist_ , merely because of how unlikely it was to ever fucking happen.

And yet, here we are.

The “walk” home (if you can even call it that, considering it was more of a jog than anything) was not as uneventful as I would have liked. I swear some god out there has it out for me, because I managed to stumble upon the one person I did not want to see right now.

Tricia Tucker.

I’m not close to my sister, we have had this mutual agreement since we were kids; Leave me the fuck alone and I won’t bother you. It’s always worked out perfectly, she doesn’t care about my business and I couldn’t give any less fucks about hers. But we’re not on bad terms either, we have had a few fights about unnecessary things like who ate the last cereal, but other than that she’s tolerable.

She’s tolerable when she _isn’t_ using her god-like intuition to read me like an open book. I don’t know _why_ or _how_ she does it, cause I certainly can’t. I first found this out when I was 8, I lost my Red Racer car outside and was pretty upset. I remember not telling my parents because of our unsaid rule to show as little emotion as humanly possible at all times, although I’m confident now that such a rule never existed and my 8 year old brain just made it up. Anyway, I didn’t tell anyone but Tricia still noticed my distress and offered to help me look for it. She spent the whole day helping me look for it, which was kind of sweet. I say “kind of” because as soon as we found it she demanded payment in the form of candy.

This might not seem so bad, and if it was literally any other person it wouldn’t be, but this is _Tricia_ , the devil incarnate. If I got a penny for every time she has used her intuition to embarrass me I would be a fucking millionaire. Now, Craig Tucker doesn’t _feel_ embarrassed, Craig Tucker doesn’t feel _anything_ , and that’s the reason it’s so humiliating. Tricia always feels the need to acknowledge whatever emotion I’m experiencing at the moment, preferably if there’s anyone other than the 2 of us in the room. I actively avoid talking about my emotions, so Tricia doing it for me isn’t appreciated.

I can feel my frown as I glare at her from across the street, I’m already dreading this encounter. She doesn’t seem to have noticed me though, drinking what appears to be coffee while looking at her phone.

Good.

I try my best to become one with the sidewalk to avoid her looking my way, which doesn’t work as well as I would have hoped. My phone vibrates with a slight buzz in my pocket, it’s a text from Tricia. Great.

[I know you saw me dickhead.]

I don’t bother replying since I can already see her strutting towards me. She takes a long sip of her coffee and stares at me.

“What’s got your panties in a twist big bro.” She phrases it more like a statement than a question, she couldn’t possibly know what’s up but still manages to act like it, convincing enough for me to flinch.

“Nothing, just tired from work,” which is definitely not a lie. I am pretty damn exhausted from work alone, the Tweek issue is just something a little extra that life decided to throw in for fun, kind of like getting extra fries with your hamburger. Except the fries aren’t good, they’re not seasoned, they’re not even cooked, actually scratch fries, it’s seaweed.

I’m convinced she doesn’t buy my explanation because she wastes no time to respond.

“Tweek’s back you know.”

I do know. I am fully aware of his return.

“I had no idea.”

I wish that was the truth, I wish I didn’t know, but I do. He said he arrived yesterday, I would guess that he spent that whole day unpacking or whatever, which means that the cinema was probably his first stop outside. Figures _I’d_ be the first person to know he’s back in town, coincidence or not, but this raises a question; how does _she_ know he’s back? As far as I know he didn’t seem to have told anyone, let alone my _sister_.

“I met him at the coffee shop,” was the answer to my question. Well, that explains the coffee.

I’m not quite sure how to respond to that, so I opt to stay quiet. She seems somewhat pleased with herself, I’m guessing she got all of  the information she wanted out of me.

We walk home together, side by side. Neither of us says a word, but I can tell that she’s thinking of saying something stupid. Tricia and Tweek were surprisingly close before he packed his stuff and left. She doesn’t harbor the same feelings of resentment towards Tweek as me though, after all, he didn’t break up with her on her birthday and then leave without a word.

“So… how was your first day as a decent human being?”

“Having a job doesn’t make me a decent human being, it just means I earn money for performing tedious tasks.”

“Well alright, sorry for asking asshole.”

We sometimes share moments like these. They’re what I would call “attempts at sibling bonding.” It’s nothing too ambitious, only short questions about how our day has been. Normally, I wouldn’t mind answering her questions, sometimes I actually end up returning the question.

If I’m in a good mood, that is.

But right now? I’m not in a good mood, and I know what she’s up to. Despite all this, I’m certain she won’t stop pestering me unless I give her something to work with, so I decide to tell her about my day in minimal detail.

“It was just like any other job. A few dumb customers showed up, I yelled at some kids, Kenny was there.”

“Karen told me Kenny got a new job a while ago, good to know it’s the same shithole as you.”

Tricia somehow managed to befriend the shy girl known as Karen McCormick when they were put in the same class. They were assigned to do a group project together and have been joined at the hip ever since. Considering their vastly different personalities, I’m surprised they’ve managed to stay friends for so long. Karen is a shy, way too nice for her own good girl while Tricia is a pure bitch through-and-through. They share about everything with each other -at least from what I’ve unwillingly heard through the thin as fuck walls- clothes, movies, hell even their _hairstyle_. Tricia once mentioned it during dinner, that she did Karen’s hair to match her own, as a sign of friendship or whatever.

Something else they share is _secrets_ . Or at least I _think_ that they’re secrets, they’re definitely not meant for my ears -that’s for sure- but it’s not my fault they can’t keep their voices to a whisper. I could probably tell you more about Karen McCormick’s taste in chips than I could about my own life.

Not that that’s really saying anything, considering my life is as dull and uneventful as can be, but you get my point.

Despite how it may seem, I don’t dislike Karen. She’s tolerable enough, befriending her was probably one of the few good decisions Tricia has made in her whole life. Even I can appreciate the pleasant atmosphere she brings to the dining table. So, while I do understand why Tricia sticks around Karen, I can’t for the life of me figure out _how_ on earth Karen has been able to stand my sister for nearly a _decade_. She must have patience of steel. Then again, any sibling of Kenny McCormick must have patience of steel.

Kenny McCormick.

We are not friends. Have never been friends. Will never be friends. And I definitely do not intend to change that. We’ve known each other for what, basically our whole lives? But that doesn’t change a single thing. Growing up, me and my group of misfits sometimes found ourselves ensnared in whatever bullshit Stan and his gang came up with. Hate is a strong word that, in a way, means you care. Which I don’t. Which is why I don’t hate them, only _strongly_ dislike.

Kenny happens to be a part of that gang.

That’s why,  by default, I don’t like him. I can’t come up with anything especially bad he himself has done, but merely hanging out with those assholes is enough of a sin in my book. I can’t really think of anything that Kenny has done at all to be honest, since I rarely pay him any mind.

My house is a lot closer to the cinema then I remembered, because after only a few minutes of being lost in thought, I’m surprised to have my foot touch the porch.

“You gonna unlock the door or what?” Tricia asks impatiently with a sigh and slight tapping of her foot.

Fumbling with my keys and pushing open the door, we’re greeted with the pleasant scent of baking in action.

Mom picked up baking a few years ago, a baking frenzy started in town and when it died down she just decided to stick with it. She’s definitely become better at it through the years, I can still taste the burned chocolate chip cookies she force-fed us when she first started. Luckily for us, and everyone else that she “offered” her pastries - her lips stated it as an offer, her eyes said otherwise - the years of flipping through a cookbook are starting to pay off.

It is, in the least, safe to say that tasting _one_ brownie won’t poison me.

I sneak a glance towards the kitchen. She probably won’t notice the disappearance of one brownie. Or two.

With tricia already on her way upstairs, I see my chance.

I quickly grab 5 brownies and dart upstairs, almost tripping in the rush. I can hear a yell from downstairs, but that does not matter. I can’t give back what I don’t have, so I stuff all 5 brownies into my mouth when I hear angry steps reaching my door.

“Craig Tucker, I swear to God and everything holy that if you don’t hand me back those brownies I will personally rip this door from its hinges, break it in two and shove the pieces down your throat.”

“Donft haf themf”

“Unbelievable.”

Deciding that what’s lost is lost, she heads downstairs again and I swallow the mushy brownies. My mom has a bit of a temper, but all her threats are empty so I’m never too worried. She’s usually nice whenever we have guests, but sometimes she slips up. It can be quite fun to watch. I still remember the first time Clyde saw her in full blown rage. I’d been hanging out at Clyde’s for the day without telling either of my parents, blame the uninterested and occupied mind of a child, and when we walked to my house she was waiting by the door. Let’s just say I’ve never seen Clyde so mortified in the entire time we’ve known each other, it was hilarious. Of course I know my mom wouldn’t _actually_ use a spoon to cut off my legs and then use that very spoon to feed me leg-stew, but Clyde didn’t seem to make that connection.    

Shrugging off my jacket and tossing it on the bed, I take Stripe out of his cage. He runs a few laps around the room before settling down in my lap. Turning on my laptop, I peel an orange for us to share. Sharing is caring, after all. Not that I’d ever share an orange with anyone other than Stripe.

There’s still plenty of time left of the day, but that won’t stop me from spending it all watching movies in my room.

The thought of watching a movie unwillingly reminds me of the hellhole in which I currently work. At least here, in my room, the movies I can pick from are _actually worth seeing_. The snacks on which I can snack, delicious. The company in which I share this space, outstanding. Just me, Stripe, and whatever movie seems good enough to waste 2 hours on. No insufferable customers. No Kenny. No blondes with blue eyes and green shirts. No long lost crushes.

No Tweek Tweak.

* * *

 

The rest of the evening passed by without a hitch. Stripe and I watched a few shitty movies. I answered one of Clyde’s call about some girl, then hung up and proceeded to ignore the rest of his calls. I even managed to catch a few hours of heavenly sleep.

Heavenly. There isn’t a single less fitting word to describe the predicament I am currently in.

Just as I entered the front doors of the cinema this morning, the boss thrust the task of receiving and sorting all of the new candy deliveries upon me. Sorting the candy and putting it on display is probably somewhere in my work description, but I’m pretty sure that carrying these 12 boxes is a two-man job. Why are there even 12 boxes to begin with, it’s not like the shit here actually _sells_. It’s common knowledge that everyone smuggles their own candy inside anyway. Although, maybe people would start spending money here if you couldn’t find gummy bears from 2 years back still on display.

Lifting the first box, I start making my way towards the storage room. At first I wondered why there were so many unopened boxes in there, but I think I can guess why now. It’s not like the old stuff is gonna sell, so why not just get rid of it? Considering the fact that the boss is never around anyway, I doubt that he would notice a decrease in boxes.

It takes about 30 minutes to bring all the boxes into the storage room. I still have a while before the cinema opens, probably even more since the chances of anyone excitedly waiting outside for the cinema to open are non-existent. I might as well put up new candy on the displays, if it doesn’t sell I’ll at least have something not from the 90’s to eat in my boredom.

I decide to start my new mission by clearing the displays of all old candy, throwing it in multiple trash bags because lord knows one couldn’t possibly be enough. Thank you previous occupants of this job, your lack of effort won’t be forgotten.

I’m almost done making the displays somewhat presentable when the doors are opened for any soul unfortunate enough to see this cinema as their only option for entertainment. Since no one’s gonna show up this early anyway, I might as well unpack the last box. The box contains bags of gummy bears, thankfully all from this year.

I’m halfway through unpacking the box when the doors slam open.

Not really caring who’s stupid enough to wake up at such an ungodly hour just to visit a cinema that doesn’t play any movies for another hour, I sit down in a squat and keep my eyes on the displays. They’re still as messy as when I arrived, well not _as_ messy, I’d like to think that I’ve somewhat organized them, but definitely still messy. I should probably put the treats in some kind of order one day, but not today.

My mind begins to drift before I hear someone clear their throat.

Turning my head towards the sound, my eyes are met with a pair of brown cargo boots. The owner of the boots doesn’t seem amused by my lack of attention and lightly taps my shoulder.

“Hello.”

“Hey.”  

Well this is nothing short of awkward. After yesterday’s fiasco, the thought of him coming back didn’t even cross my mind, so I didn’t prepare for this.

With apparently nothing to say, Tweek starts fidgeting and pulls at the hem of his shirt. He knows I work here - he can’t possibly have forgotten in a day - so what the fuck is he doing here? I’m pretty damn sure I was clear in my answer to him.

“Ngh-so I was just, you know, wondering? Wondering,” He says it like a question, like he’s unsure and _I’m_ supposed to know what he wants. Then, while avoiding my eyes, finishes with “If maybe you-hnn-changed your mind?”

Alright so apparently my answer wasn’t clear enough.

“No.”

“God! Why do you need to be so-so-” He makes some anxious sound, for emphasis probably, and pulls at his hair, “Frustrating!”

“Frustrating? _I’m_ being frustrating?” His complaint hits a nerve and I can feel my calm demeanour crack, “Wanna know what _I_ find frustrating? _I_ find it frustrating when my boyfriend breaks up with me for _no reason_ and then flees the town like he’s on some fucking mission to save the world, when, _really_ , he’s just an asshole.”

So maybe I’m not being completely rational. _Maybe_ I’m bringing a bit more emotion into this than appropriate for a Tucker. But fuck if I’m not tired of all this tip-toeing around the subject.

“How about you try asking again after you’ve traveled back to the past and unfucked this mess, then _maybe_ I’ll consider it.”

“Really? You’re still mad about that? We were 10! And It’s been what, 8 years? Grow up and move on already Craig,” he says with a scoff.

“Eat a dick Tweek.”

Tweek’s eye visibly twitches at the remark and he groans in frustration.

Probably at a loss of what to do, Tweek leaves the cinema and slams the doors shut loudly on his way out. I’m not quite sure what to think of this. On the plus side, he probably won’t come back and talk to me like none of the shit that happened isn’t relevant. On the negative side, I probably just fucked up any chance I ever had of at least being _friends_ with him again.

Fuck.

* * *

 

Looking tiredly at the clock, I let out a heavy sigh. My shift is almost over, only 15 minutes left of suffocation in this hell. Just like yesterday, nothing special happened after Tweek left. There were even less customers than yesterday, granted, it’s a sunday and everyone knows that Saturdays are the designated movie days.

Unlike yesterday, the meeting with Tweek left a sour taste in my mouth. Not to say that I enjoyed meeting Tweek yesterday, because I didn’t. I wouldn’t say that I’m confused, because I’m never confused, but I’m not _confident_ in what I’m feeling. I still hate Tweek’s guts, no doubt about it. Hell, after today, I hate them even _more_. All I’m asking for is an explanation, or at least some kind of apology, but Tweek has given me neither. He’s just been a smug little shit. Maybe I’m not so confused about my emotions after all.

The minutes tick by as I watch the clock’s hands move bit by bit. _Just a few minutes left_ . I could probably leave early without trouble, it’s not like anyone’s gonna buy something _now_ , but you never know. Just as these thoughts cross my mind, the doors open. I look up and instantly frown. What the hell is he doing here again.

Tweek looks around the displays, acting like the normal customer he _isn’t_. He seems to have calmed down since our last encounter and carefully inspects the different bags of gummy bears. How he can stay so focused on such a simple task is beyond me.

After 5 minutes of Tweek just standing there, eyes flicking between two bags, he finally grabs one and heads to the counter.

“I’d-hnn-like this one, please,” he quietly utters while handing me the bag.

I punch in the total and wait for him to scramble for his wallet, the silence _agonizing_.

He hesitates before handing over a few coins, then mutters something I can’t quite make out.

“Didn’t catch that.”

“Gh-I’m sorry! For, uh, everything.”

Almost dropping the coins, I stare at him. That was uncalled for. Tweek doesn’t seem to be done though, as he stays in place and starts opening the bag of candy. It takes a while for him to get the hang of it, and I almost offer to help him, but then he rips it open and places a gummy bear on the counter. It’s blue.

“I-hng-still want to go on that date, because,” He takes a few shaky breaths and tightens his grip around the bag, “I like you beary much!”

Like last time, he runs out of the cinema before I have the chance to respond.

Unlike last time, the words leave a weird feeling in my chest and I grasp my shirt tightly.

_“Fuck.”_


	4. Popcorn

Just like all good things come to an end, so does the weekend.

I’m jolted awake by the loud beeping of my alarm playing. Standing up and rubbing my eyes, I make my way downstairs without bothering to get dressed first. I’m in no rush, I couldn’t care any less about about getting to class on time.

Reaching the end of the stairs, my path is blocked by Tricia sitting on the last step to tie her shoes. For bragging about being oh so observant, she sure didn’t seem observant enough to notice me walking loudly down the stairs. I click my tongue and smack her in the head.

“OW fuck!” She shrieks and turns around to glare at me.

I give her a smirk and groggily reply with “Mornin’.”

“Aren’t you gonna be late?”

“Yup.”

“You’re a disappointment to Tuckers all around the world.”

“Sure am.”

She finishes tying her shoes and runs out the door, but not before flipping me off. I return the gesture and resume my walk to the kitchen. I’m not even in the mood for breakfast, maybe some fruit will suffice. I grab an orange and peel it before heading back upstairs, handing Stripe a few slices before getting dressed. Jimmy once asked me why I always share my oranges with Stripe, and also why the only fruit we have is oranges. The answer is simple, really, all the oranges are Stripe’s and _he’s_ the one sharing them with _me_ . I am truly blessed to have such a kind-hearted guinea pig. And we don’t _only_ have oranges, we have plenty of other fruit as well. Stripe likes variety.

The walk to school was slow and quiet, most adults already being at work and most kids being in school. Being 5 minutes late or 20 minutes late are both still late, so I figured there was no harm in taking my sweet time getting there.

Apparently I was wrong.

Arriving 20 minutes late usually isn’t a problem, it might get me detention sometimes but it’s nothing too drastic. It _usually_ isn’t a problem. As soon as I entered the classroom Clyde flung himself towards me, crying about God-knows-what.

“Clyde get the fuck off me,” I shrug his arms off shoot him a glare.

In between Clyde’s sniffles I can make out the words “project”, “Kenny” and “asshole”, which really doesn’t explain anything.

“What.”

“The project! We were assigned our partners _just_ before you came inside, so if your lazy ass had left the bed earlier then _we_ could have been partners!” He lets out a gross sob, “But now I’m with Kenny, asshole!”

Not really caring whether I ended up with Clyde or not, I say “whatever” and give him a shrug, moving towards an empty seat in the back. My arrival doesn’t go unnoticed by the teacher, Clyde’s sobbing definitely not having helped my swift entry, and she walks over to my desk.

“As I have said many times, tardiness will not be tolerated, _Tucker_ ,” she places a paper with presumably information about the project on the desk and give me a disapproving stare.

“Birds of a feather, flock together. I put you with your fellow tardy classmate, I hope you’ll both make an effort to at least show up and work on the project,” she scoffs and walks back to her desk.

Figuring that I can’t work anyway if my partner isn’t here, no one should mind if I leave. I grab the paper and walk to the door, earning a questioning look from the teacher. I simply flip her off and open the door.

The halls are quiet during class, for obvious reasons. Most people don’t make a habit of leaving in the middle of class, or not showing up at all, that’s a Craig Tucker original. That’s not to say that I don’t care about class, though. Well I guess I don’t care about _class_ , I care about _grades_. I still have good grades despite skipping, I’m not about to foil the chances of my only dream coming true by not studying.

My locker is in the most central area of the school, right next to the cafeteria, which means that it’s also the loudest. During class is the only time it’s not loud as fuck, so I appreciate the quiet solitude skipping grants me. Except this time there won’t be any quiet solitude. Because I’m not alone.

Having come from the side, I can’t see _who_ it is that’s using the locker next to mine because of the cover the locker’s door grants. That locker has been unoccupied for years now, some girl had it when I first got mine, but she moved shortly after and no one has had it since.

My thoughts are disrupted by the locker slamming shut, probably harder than intended by the sound of a yelp following shortly after. I follow the sound to glance at the locker’s new occupant and instinctively groan.

Really? It had to be Tweek fucking Tweak, of all people?

I was going to pretend I didn’t see him, but his wide eyed stare gives me the feeling that he already knows.

Neither of us says a thing, and it’s starting to get a bit awkward. Where did his spunk and determination from the last two days go? The only emotion he seems to be capable of showing right now is shock, it kind of reminds me of our first encounter in the cinema.

Not wanting to be the initiator of this conversation, I take the time to observe him. Because of South park’s constant state of cold as hell, I only saw him in thick sweaters and jackets at the cinema. He seems to have downgraded from that though, as he’s only wearing a striped t-shirt and green cardigan right now. Glancing up, I can make out the vague shape of half a heart in silver, is he wearing a necklace?

He twitches slightly under my stare and opens his mouth, only to close it again. This goes on for a while before he decides to speak.

“W-what are YOU doing here!?”

“Seriously Tweek? I go to fucking school here, where the hell else would I be?”

“In class! Why aren’t you-hnng-in class!?”

“Why aren’t _you_ in class?”

He freezes for a moment, and then, in sudden realization, lets out a shrilling screech and darts off.

Finally granted the quiet solitude I wanted, I put the stuff in my locker. The project’s instruction paper is laying untouched at the bottom of the locker, deciding that reading it would probably be a good idea I pick it up.

“Work as interns in pairs, present your experiences to the class,” I’m guessing this is another one of the school’s bullshit plans to make us students excited for the life as slaves of society. I can’t say I’m surprised. If I did this project alone -which I would prefer- I could just talk about the cinema, since I already have the misfortune of working there, killing two birds with one stone. I’m not doing it alone though. Realizing that I still don’t know my partner, I flip the paper around.

“Tweek Tweak.”

* * *

 

Avoiding Tweek wasn’t hard, they only shared one class and they happened to only have that class on mondays. He still has the locker next to mine, but I can’t say I’ve seen him use it much. Maybe he’s trying to avoid me as well.

A quick flick on my shoulder brings my attention to the boy on my left, Clyde waves a hand in front of my face and chants my name like this is a cult meeting and he’s taking the lead in summoning a demon.

“What do you want,” I swat his hand away and send him a glare. Clyde may be my best friend, but that’s merely because he always has been. It’s a force of habit. Maybe I do tell him a little bit more than our other friends, and maybe he was the one to comfort me when Tweek left and when Stripe #4 died, but that doesn’t make him special. Not _that_ special.

“So, seeing as you are my best friend for eternity, I want you to-”

“Eternity is a very long time.”

“I won’t let your insensitive words hurt me, now let me finish!” He practically yells and grabs my shoulders, “I need you and Red to go on a double date with me and Bebe, she won’t agree otherwise!”

I answer “no” and flip him off.

“Why not? Red is one of the hottest girls in school, you know,” he asks and looks at me expectantly.

“Because I’m gay?”

“Oh, how could I forget that you still harbor feelings for your ex-boyfriend of 8 years,” he says with a pout, like it’s somehow going to change my mind.

I glare at him and shoot back a “Shut up.”

Jimmy offers to take my place as wingman if Clyde pays for his food, to which Clyde responds with a hug and tears. Clyde always manages to turn any display of affection into a gross mess of snot and tears.

“Speaking of which,” Token pipes up, “I saw Tweek in class today.”

The loud gasp from Clyde is enough for me to leave, but he quickly grabs my arm before I get the chance to stand up.

“Tweek’s back? Craig, you should have told us!” Clyde lets go of my arm and nudges my side, “Or did you want to keep lover-boy all to yourself?”

“Didn’t know he was back,” I lie. My friends have bothered me enough about Tweek to last me 3 life times, especially when we were still together. After Tweek left they toned it down a bit, but it didn’t stop completely until last year. I guess they thought it wasn’t worth bringing up since he wasn’t coming back.

But now Tweek is back, and fuck if I’ll ever give them new material to mess with.

“I detect b-b-b-bullshit.”

“Fuck off, Jimmy.”

Clyde starts howling in laughter, but giving a quick jab to his side shuts him up. Token sends me a questioning look, but after that lunch goes on as usual. Clyde has just started gushing over some girl he saw in the bathroom line at McDonalds and how it’s “true love,” when the bell rings.

The rest of the week is fairly uneventful. No new figures of the past decide to suddenly show up out of nowhere, and God seems to have the decency to at least not throw Tweek in my face for every step that I take. I really couldn’t have asked for more.

I welcomed the weekend with open arms, nothing could possibly beat spending two whole days alone in your room. It’s a dream come true, really. Except it didn’t come true because I still work at the damn cinema.

“All I’m saying is, that movie was not in the slightest like the trailer! I think I deserve some compensation after wasting those precious hours on such garbage.”

“Ma’am, if you have any complaints go to the help desk. I only sell candy.”

“I requested a refund, not a snarky attitude! I’ll be sure to tell the manager about this!”

“Ma’am I, quite frankly, don’t give a fuck.”

The lady lets out a huff and storms out of through the doors, making sure to tip over 5 displays on her way out. Figuring that it’s not my job to clean after bitchy customers throwing a fit, I call on the janitor. The last few hours have been extremely draining. Every person leaving the theater seem more dissatisfied than the last, and apparently they think it’s my job to deal with them, which it isn’t.

Loud whistling brings my attention to the entrance, where Kenny is currently leaning against one of the doors.

“I called for the janitor.”

“I _am_ the janitor,” he answers and picks up one of the scattered bags of gummy bears, “this isn’t from 1956, did you seriously do your job instead of slacking off?”

“Yeah some of us actually like getting paid for doing shit, surprise.”

“Are you implying something, Mr Tucker?” He seems to catch my drift when I motion towards the mess and lets out a laugh before picking up a few more bags.

Kenny keeps quiet after that. He tried starting conversations a few times, but quickly grew tired of it due to the lack of response. I decide to flip through some magazines at the counter to pass the time. There’s definitely some variety between the choices to pick from. So, am I in the mood for World War II or waitress porn?

Picking the former, I flip through a few pages and find some questionable stains adorning the paper. Seriously what the fuck were the people working here prior to me doing behind the counter, jacking it to Hitler?

I close the magazine and glance at Kenny, who is quite obviously not doing what I asked him to. No, instead of cleaning up the mess he’s talking to some customer that I failed to notice coming in during my very focused reading. Not caring who it is Kenny’s spending his time with, I opt to look through the other magazine. It can’t be much worse than the first one.

I was wrong.

Before I get the chance to close it, someone snatches it from my hands. That someone being Kenny McCormick.

“No reading on the job, Tucker,” he flips through the magazine before giving me a blank stare, “you’re into this? Pretty vanilla.”

“Into what?” Before I can answer, a third voice that I instantly recognize joins the conversation.

“Nothi-” Kenny cuts me off and promptly shoves the magazine in Tweek’s face.

“Dude check this out, Craig’s secret stash.”

Tweek carefully looks through the magazine, then back at me. Then back at the magazine again. He seems lost in thought, as if trying connect two dots but one happens to be a square, before his eyes finally settle on me.

“I thought you were gay,” he asks with a questioning look.

“Oh he is,” Kenny chimes in and grabs the magazine, ”which is why I’ll be taking this.”

He sends me a wink and skips through the doors, leaving me and Tweek alone. The bastard didn’t even clean anything.

“Hey I-ngh-want some popcorn.”

“You’ll have to pay.”

“Obviously.”

I turn around to start the machine. Neither of us says anything, but the silence isn’t as uncomfortable as our other encounters. I glance over my shoulder, Tweek doesn’t seem as nervous now as our earlier encounters either. He hums an upbeat tune and sways his head from side to side. It’s kind of cute.

I turn to hand Tweek the popcorn but stop for a moment. Cute? Tweek isn’t cute. Well, he’s not _that_ cute, and I’m still mad at him. It’s not like he has any business being cute to begin with, he’s an asshole.

“How much?” He takes out his wallet to pay but I stop him.

“Don’t know, don’t care, just take it.”

“Thought you said I had to pay,” he smiles and grabs a fist full of popcorn.

I don’t answer, but I see him open his mouth to say something else- wait. Fuck no.

“Don’t, stop. Just- stop.”

“What? I’m not doing anything.”

“I know what you’re up to. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, also shame on you. Fool me thrice, fuck you,” I end the statement by flipping him off. He’s done it twice now, buying something before sputtering out a stupid pickup-line about said thing. I’m not about to let it happen a third time.

“Fine- alright, but can I-hnn-just say one last thing?”

“No.”

Not caring about my answer, Tweek takes a deep breath and looks at me with new-found confidence.

“This is going to sound a-ghn-bit corny,” he does what can only be described as an attempted wink, “but you make my heart pop.”

Just like every other time, he makes a run for it as soon as he reaches the last syllable. This time I don’t get long to think about it though, as Kenny waltzes in from the backdoor and leans against the counter.

Still looking through the magazine he stole earlier, he says “thought you said the two of you weren’t like that.”

“We’re not like _anything_ , fuck off.”

Seeing as Kenny is now occupying my space behind the counter, I decide to clean up the mess our supposed “janitor” couldn’t finish. Making my way over to the displays, I see a trail of popcorn following the way from the counter to the doors. Probably the sacrifices of Tweek’s rushed exit. Just like when we were 10, Tweek leaves abruptly and I have to clean up the mess. But this time it’s different. This time, despite how annoying it might be, I’m certain Tweek will be back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind comments, it really means a lot!  
> I've been able to update frequently because I wrote the first 4 chapters a while ago, but I haven't gotten any longer than that so it will be a bit slower from now on  
> I don't intend for it to take too long though, so no worries


	5. S'mores

“Care to remind me why I’m still here?” It was currently sunday afternoon and my shift had just ended, but unlike my previous plans to go straight home, I’m still stuck in the damn cinema. For some stupid reason Kenny called me inside the theater to work overtime, like I’d ever actually help him unless I was held at gunpoint, and even then the chances would be slim.

“Some dumb 4th graders thought it would be fun to start the apocalypse during a movie, the place is covered in spilled drinks and popcorn. I can’t possibly clean it all up by myself,” Kenny opens the doors and we are immediately greeted by a sea of soda, popcorn scattered on the surface like tiny icebergs. In this scenario I’m the Titanic and this ship is about to fucking sink. No way I’m cleaning all of this shit.

“I’m not doing this, bye.”

“Craig come on,” he grabs a hold of my arm, “I’ll treat you to a pack of gum.”

“That’s the least appealing offer I have ever received in my entire life.”

“I could do your homework?”

“No thanks, I prefer actually passing my classes.”

“Don’t be a dick, Craig. I’m begging on my knees over here,” he looks at me with what I guess is an attempt att puppy eyes.

I try to shake off his arm but he’s insanely persistent, agreeing will probably get me out of here faster than trying to escape his grasp, so I tell him “fine.”

Kenny shoves a broom into my hands with a smile and walks to the opposite side of the room, presumably to start cleaning. Taking one long look around is enough to make me regret my choice. Kenny apparently can’t do his job as a janitor when I call for him, but now he’s suddenly taking it seriously enough to enlist my help. That’s just great.

I tighten my grip around the broom and start sweeping the floor. Will this help at all? Probably not. It’s not like I can sweep away the abundance of soda with a broom.

It takes 3 hours of consistent sweeping and swabbing -because it took Kenny 2 hours to realize that merely sweeping would get us nowhere- before the theater was finally clean enough to walk on the floor without getting stuck in the sticky mess. Wanting nothing more than to go straight home and indulge in the pleasant solitude of my room, I drop the broom on the floor and walk out.

Kenny wastes no time running after me and by the time I reach the doors he’s following closely behind.

“Can you fuck off? I don’t need your scrawny ass walking me home.”

Kenny lets out a God-awful giggle and takes that as an invitation to move closer, “we’re going the same way dude.”

“No we’re not. Your house is on the opposite side of town,” Kenny still lives with his family in the same small, run-down house as when we were 10. I almost find myself feeling bad for him, but then I remember that I don’t care.

“I’m picking up Karen,” he answers with a shrug.

Accepting that I won’t get rid of him, I put on my headphones and pick some random 80’s music list on spotify. Not because I like 80’s music, but because I’d rather listen to literally anything other than Kenny’s insistent rambling. Kenny seems to get the hint and stays quiet for most of the walk. It’s oddly pleasant.

But then of course, he has to open his big mouth.

“I kinda stole Clyde from you for that project,” he sends a wink my direction and curtsies, “you have my sincerest apologies.”

I scoff, “I couldn’t care less about what partner I have.”

We turn a corner and Kenny lets out a snicker, “yeah I’m sure you prefer your current partner anyway.”

I quirk him an eyebrow.

“Tweek told me yesterday, but you were too busy admiring the russian army’s _guns_ to notice, if you catch my drift.”

“I am choosing to ignore that statement ever left your mouth,” I scowl at him in utter disgust; ”seriously though, what the fuck is wrong with you.”

Kenny bides his time by whistling some annoying tune, “the magazines weren’t mine, if that’s what you think.”

We arrive at my doorstep shortly after and Kenny leaves with Karen in tow, thankfully not opening his mouth to spew any more bullshit.

I make my way to the kitchen, well deserving of some cereal. One look through the cupboards and I let out a disappointed sigh, we apparently only have that disgusting way-too-sugary kind that only Tricia and dad like. I want to satisfy my hunger, not get diabetes.

I grab an apple in defeat and turn towards the living room, spotting Tricia on the couch watching Honey Boo Boo. Slumping down on the unoccupied seat, I take a bite out of my apple and stretch my legs over Tricia.

She gives me a questioning look but doesn’t make an attempt to move, instead turning back to the tv, “this is garbage.”

“You’re the one watching it.”

“Touché.”

We watch quietly for a while, commenting on the stupidity of the show from time to time. Really, whose idea was it to make a show about some fat kid bitching about stuff? It astonishes me how you can make money producing trash like this. It’s not like any sane person could possibly find enjoyment in watching a show with some insensitive fatass who thinks the world revolves around them.

We spend the rest of the evening watching a few different shows, each somehow worse than the last. It’s like Netflix approves of literally anything these days. After the 57th episode of Terrance and Phillip my eyes started feeling heavy and eventually closed, not really caring that sleeping on the couch would make tomorrow hell.

* * *

 

Monday, also known as “worst day of the week”, and with good reason. Waking up at 7 in the morning never put anyone in a good mood. I’m confident that our ancestors never woke up earlier than 10 before the clock was invented, and really, the dick who invented our beloved clock was definitely a sadist. Who else would waste time making something to force future generations to rise before the sun does.

I sit up and crack my joints, hoping to bother Tricia with the disgusting sound. Tricia isn’t there though, probably already at school like the responsible student she is.

I have never really cared much for Mondays, they’re just like any other day that isn’t the weekend; you wake up early as fuck, attend some either somewhat interesting or unnecessary classes and deal with annoying people.

This Monday was different though. This Monday, and the ones to come, my dreaded class with Tweek will take place.

It’s not that I hate this class in particular, because I don’t. Hate requires effort I am not willing to put into this class. No- I just don’t want to meet Tweek. Or talk to Tweek. Or even have to look at Tweek. But because of this class and its stupid project I’ll have to do all three.

Not caring that I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday and probably need _at least_ a shower, I put on my jacket and make my way outside. Back aching from yesterday’s bad decision to sleep on the couch, I sloppily trudge to school and arrive in class just about 5 minutes late. That’s good enough. I’m pretty sure the teacher shoots a glare my way, but I don’t care about that. What I care about is Kenny sitting next to Clyde, chatting about God-knows-what. Now I don’t care about the fact that he’s talking to Clyde, I care about the fact that he’s sitting in _my seat_. This leaves Kenny’s empty seat as the only other option.

Which just happens to be right next to Tweek.

Clyde waves at me and I answer by flipping him off before sitting down in my new -but not appreciated- seat. Tweek shrieks and hastily locks eyes with me when the chair makes a screeching sound, his eyes lingering way longer than comfortable. Class has just barely started and I already regret my decision to come here.

The teacher announces a deadline for the project and reminds everyone who their partner is, then leaves us to our own devices. Despite being a stuck-up bitch our teacher doesn’t beat around the bush, which I appreciate because there’s already enough bullshit here to reach the moon and back. It’s too bad that’s literally her only redeeming quality.

A slight tap on my shoulder brings my attention back to the boy on my left, who has scooted close enough for our thighs to touch. Uncomfortable.

“Dude can you get any closer?” I ask and move to the edge of my chair, trying to hide my discomfort.

Tweek’s eyes light up with a mischievous gleam and he leans in way too close for comfort.

“I can try.”

Kenny and Clyde are laughing their asses off behind us and I reflexively push Tweek away out of embarrassment, the unexpected force causing him to stumble and fall on the floor.

We’re both sent out of the classroom for disrupting the class and are now awkwardly standing right outside the door in silence. Doing this project with Tweek is not an optimal situation -it’s actually a pretty shitty situation- but I’m not about to fail this class because of him. Grabbing his hand might not have been one of the brightest moments in my life, but old habits die hard I guess. Really _really_ old habits.

We walk in silence to one of the empty benches outside the school, though it’s more me forcefully dragging him than a mutual effort. Tweek’s sudden bursts of confidence apparently only last for so long, and once it dies down he becomes an empty shell of a human being.

Once we sit down neither of us make a move to start some kind of dialogue. I steal a quick glance at him, his eyes glued to the ground and a slight blush adorning his cheeks. Oh yeah, we’re still holding hands.

I quickly retract my hand and grab my phone to check the time. There’s 40 minutes left for us to plan what the hell we’re going to do for this project, and I’m not about to let Tweek ruin this by being uncooperative. I stare at him in search for something to talk about when my eyes land on the necklace he’s wearing, it’s better than nothing.

“That,” I point to his necklace, “is pretty gay.” Maybe not my strongest attempt at conversation, but I’m not known for being socially competent so there’s really not much more to expect.

“Erk-rude, dude!” He gives me a stern glare and huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It wasn’t an insult,” leaves my mouth before my mind has the time to register it. Quickly switching topic I follow up with “we’ll write about the cinema.”

“What? No I-gnn-want it to be the coffee shop.”

“But I already work at the cinema. It’ll be easier.”

“And I work at the-hng-coffee shop!”

We stare at each other, neither backing down. This is stupid, Tweek is stupid. Why can’t he just agree and get it over with?

We keep staring for about 5 minutes and my patience is running thin. At this point it would probably be the easiest to just do both, because there’s no way in hell I’m backing down and I doubt Tweek thinks any differently. The one thing we can agree on is disagreeing, fan-fucking-tastic.

Letting out a sigh, I decide to voice the proposition, “let’s do both.”

“Both?” He gives me a confused look and fidgets with his fingers.

“Both,” I answer and stand up. This is probably a bad idea, but I’ve been making a lot of bad decisions lately so who’s surprised.

I wave him a quick goodbye and head inside, not about to waste the last 20 minutes of class in agonizing silence next to Tweek now that we’ve sort of planned our project. Not that I have  any intention of ever placing a foot behind the counter at Tweek Bros. Tweek doesn’t need to know that though, he’ll just have to deal with it when the time comes.

* * *

 

Lunch break is welcomed by the whole class with open arms, everyone bored close to death by Wendy Testaburger. Wendy was holding one of her famous speeches about some movement for diversity she had joined, which I’m confident literally no one gave any fucks about. I even caught a glance of Stan yawning, which is saying a lot considering he follows her around like a lost puppy.

Needless to say, eating lunch in silence is a pleasure I’ll gladly partake in. Well, in as much silence as my friends will provide me with. They’re not really known for being a quiet bunch.

“Guys- GUYS! Are you seeing this? You’re seeing this, right!? Red is totally staring at me!” Clyde practically yells and flings his arms up in the air with a cheer.

“I think that’s because of the tomato sauce littering your face, not your _amazingly good looks_ ,” Token says and offers his phone as a mirror.

Clyde snatches the phone from Token’s hands and his face falls from “oh I just won 10 million dollars!” to “my whole family just died and I’m next.” He quickly rises from his seat and yells “be right back!” before running out of the cafeteria.

Clyde is usually the one to bring about the noise in our group, so his absence finally lets me relish in my very anticipated silence. But as much as I hate to admit it, the silence does feel a bit off. Which is why I can feel myself relax when the bench creaks under a weight being added on my left. Token and Jimmy don’t seem to share the feeling though, as they simply stare at the spot, mouths agape and confusion apparent in their eyes. I turn my head and realize why.

It’s not Clyde.

Tweek opens a small juice box and takes a long sip, seemingly not bothered by the tense atmosphere. It isn’t before he takes out his lunch box that Token decides to open his mouth, “Hello, Tweek.”

“Hi,” Tweek doesn’t spare Token a glance, instead focusing on opening his way-too-complicated lunch box. It has like 5 locks, it’ll keep him out just as well as any possible -but highly unlikely- thieves.

Token and Jimmy shrug, the go back to chatting silently amongst themselves like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. I do notice the smirks plastered on their faces though, those assholes are just leaving me to deal with Tweek by myself. Amazing.

I’m too busy minding my own business to notice Clyde is back until I’m being shoved to the very edge of my seat, Tweek flush against my side. These benches aren’t meant for three people, the two of us just barely fit as it is. Clyde and Tweek don’t seem to mind though, happily chatting about some horrible movie Clyde watched last night. Tweek’s hand brushes lightly against my knee and I tense at the sudden contact. Figures that this asshole would do everything in his power to ruin my life, like those 8 years in agony wasn’t enough. Now he has to contaminate my sacred lunch time with his dickbag germs.

“When works-gnh-for you, Craig?” Tweek taps my shoulder just like he did in class earlier. I give him a blank stare, when works what? When does it work for him to leave? Now, preferably.

“Friday works for-nnh-me, if you’re not busy. I know you work on Saturday, so we could try the cinema then,” he looks expectantly at me. Does he mean the project?

I take a moment to think. Does Friday work for me? It’s not like I’m doing anything with my life other than watch tv and play with Stripe, so I won’t be busy on Friday. Do I want to spend a Friday afternoon inside Tweek Bros. Coffee, though? No thanks.

I tell him as much and he suddenly becomes very antsy, probably not expecting that answer. What can I say, I’m full of surprises.

“Isn’t it better to get it over with? Don’t be a pussy, Craig,” Tweek huffs with a scowl.

“Fuck- fine, Friday works.” Tweek wasn’t wrong, I’d rather just get it over with than have the knowledge that I’ll need to do it later weigh me down.

Tweek seems content with that answer and resumes the opening of his lunch box. Once he’s done, what he picks up from the box catches the whole table’s attention.

“Dude, you’re eating s’mores for lunch? What the fuck?” Clyde stares at him in amazement and ogles the sugary treats inside the box.

“I doubt that’s healthy,” Token pipes in, Jimmy nodding in agreement.

“Gah-well, I’m not exactly the poster boy for health,” Tweek answers and picks up another piece from the box. Tweek has never had a reputation as someone very healthy, probably due to the copious amounts of coffee he ingested as a kid. Speaking of which, I haven’t seen him drink any coffee since he got back. Granted, we have only met where coffee isn’t available.

Tweek eats surprisingly fast and finishes before the rest of us have finished half. He packs up his stuff and stands up from the bench, then taps my shoulder again. Really, at this point I’d prefer it if he just said my name instead of touching my shoulder every goddamn time.

“Friday, 3 o’clock, be there,” he says and I nod in agreement. Apparently he wasn’t done after that though, because he doesn’t leave, instead opting to take a step closer.

“I look forward to it,” he says, taking another step, “look forward to seeing you s’more.”

The whole table goes quiet, Jimmy and Clyde abruptly stopping in the middle of their conversation. My cheeks heat up and I quickly bury them in my hands, could he not fucking wait? What on earth prompted him to do this right here, in the middle of the cafeteria, surrounded by people we _know_.

Tweek doesn’t run this time, it’s more of a leisurely walk through the doors. No one’s attention is on Tweek though- no, their attention is all on me. They stay quiet for about a minute, then all burst out laughing.

“That’s h-h-h-h-hilarious.”

“You keep complaining about Tweek,” Clyde yells in between laughs, “but then get wrapped around his finger the second he sets a foot inside the school!”

I bury my face deeper into my hands and mutter “not true.”

“Tweek totally has you whipped, man,” Token adds with a laugh.

Not being able to stand my so called “friends” for another second, I quickly grab my stuff and leave the cafeteria. I don’t like Tweek, period. Yes, I can agree that he is kinda cute, but that’s objective. And maybe he does have really soft hands, but that’s besides the point. It’s not like you fall head over heels for someone because they have soft hands, that’s weird as fuck. Not to say that I’m falling for Tweek, because I’m not. I already did once. The fall was long and hard, not fuzzy and soft. I hit rock-bottom, not cloud nine. The pit is deep and dark with no light at the end to show the way.

The pit is called Tweek Tweak, and after eight years I still can’t get out.


	6. Latte

“Friday, 3 o’clock. Friday, 3 o’clock. Where the hell is he?” I look around in annoyance, if he’s gonna book my evening then he better fucking be here on time.

It was currently friday, 3 o’clock, and Tweek wasn’t there.

“Maybe he b-b-b-b-bailed on you,” Jimmy snickers, apparently finding Tweek making me wait by not being on time _hilarious_.

“I told you not to wait with me, fuck off,” I glance at the clock again. He’s 15 minutes late, that asshole.

“Well, we can’t have Craig Tucker waiting alone for his crush like some l-l-l-lovestruck school girl,” he puts a hand on my shoulder to appear understanding, though the smug look on his face says otherwise, “can we?”

Ever since Tweek decided to spout his usual nonsense in the cafeteria Jimmy made it his job to plague me with this supposed “crush” I had on Tweek, every single day. Even Token and Clyde decided to join in after a while, because they’re all shitty friends.

“Yes we can, now leave.” Jimmy doesn’t look dejected in the slightest as he leaves through the doors, looking as smug as ever. He can go fuck himself.

It’s been about 20 minutes since the assigned time and Tweek still isn’t here, great. If it wasn’t for the fact that I care about my grades I would be long gone. We’ve crossed each other multiple times in the corridors so I know he’s here, just not _here_ apparently.

Quick feet tap against the floor in haste, then my arm is suddenly grabbed and I’m dragged through the school to the gates. I barely register my feet moving before they abruptly stop, making the rest of my body crash into the person in front of me.

“Dude, the fuck? A warning would be nice,” I rub my now sore arm and flinch, Tweek’s body is a lot harder than it looks.

“No I just- I’m late, _we’re_ late! Gah-I’m so sorry!” He starts frantically pulling his hair, eyes darting everywhere but me.

“Why were you even late?” I question, my hands instinctively reaching for Tweek’s to stop his hair-pulling. Wait I can’t just grab his hands, we’re not 10 anymore -or dating for that matter- what the hell is wrong with me? Quickly retracting my hands, I opt for putting them in my pockets instead.

“Punched a kid- now can we _please_ leave?” Tweek pleads and runs around to push my back towards the coffee shop, “I’d rather my dad not behead me, there’s-hnn-an english assignment due soon.”

“You- what?” Tweek punched someone? Tweek Tweak _punched_ someone? Now that’s something you don’t hear everyday. He was definitely not the most docile kid when we were younger, but he wasn’t known for participating in acts of violence either. Come to think of it, the only person I’ve ever seen him punch is _me_.

“It’s not important!” He defends, arms crossed in annoyance.

“When we were kids you only punched me,” I state matter-of-factly. Imagining Tweek punching someone else proving to be harder than one would have thought. When it comes to the “bad boy” trope, Tweek doesn’t really fit the bill.

“What, are you jealous?” He punches my arm lightly with a laugh, “here’s your fill, hubby.”

Turning my head the opposite direction, I choose to ignore what he just did. Neither of us say anything after that, the silence bringing a thick tension to the air around us. Tweek doesn’t seem to notice though, does Tweek ever notice anything? No he doesn’t, because Tweek lacks what is known as common decency.

The coffee shop is a mere 15 minute walk from school, and with the slight jog Tweek picked as our tempo we get there in 10. There’s no a lot of people inside, just a few old ladies chatting up the cashier. Our entrance goes unnoticed and Tweek sighs in relief, “Wait here for a bit.”

Tweek scuttles through the ladies to the counter, says something I can’t quite hear to the cashier, then does a few animated hand gestures. While I have no clue what he just did, the man behind the counter seems to get it and removes his apron before letting Tweek take his spot. Tweek hurriedly takes all of their orders and runs to the backroom. Isn’t this a little much for just one person?

There’s suddenly a hand on my shoulder, “long time no see, Craig.” The man lets out a laugh at my startled jump and proceeds to walk outside with a wink, “have fun now, you two.”

Why does everyone assume we’re together again? Tweek was gone for _8 years_ , not a week. First Kenny, then my friends, and now _Richard Tweak_. At this point i wouldn’t be surprised to find drawings of us like when we were 10.

The horde of ladies have subsided as I slide down in one of the stalls, Tweek handing the last one her cup with a smile. The place really hasn’t changed at all since I was last here, which was about 5 years ago. I did still visit the shop a few times after Tweek left, but when the school’s cafeteria started serving coffee I didn’t really have a reason to come around anymore. It’s mostly just old people that come here now, and Tricia. Why Tricia insist on coming here I don’t know, but she does. Every day.

“Craig- earth to-hnn-Craig!” Tweek is telling from across the room, standing on the tip of his toes and aimlessly reaching for something on the top shelf. Can’t he just stand on a stool or something?

“Don’t you have a stool?”

“We do! I just- what if I fall? I could break my neck and die, or worse, live the rest of my life as a cucumber in a hospital bed!” This time, instead of pulling his hair, he starts fiddling with his necklace.

“Chill, I’ll do it.” I make my way to the shelf and Tweek points at one of the jars on the top. Who the hell put it up there to begin with? Seems a bit counterproductive if your employees can’t reach anything.

Without me asking, Tweek answers “dad is always here, so he takes it down.”

“He isn’t here now.”

“Erk-well, I said you’d be here to help! So he went home,” Tweek explains with a bright smile.

“I’m not here to help, just watch. You’re on your own.”

His face falls at that, “o-oh, I just assumed- sorry.” He looks like a kicked puppy, turning around dejectedly to work the cash register in silence. Well fuck. Now I feel like an ass.

Unsurprisingly, the coffee shop isn’t very busy on a Friday afternoon. Only 8 customers show up during the passing hour, not even particularly demanding customers. Tweek still manages to look like more of a wreck with every customer though, how does he even function in society?

The door’s bell jingles and a group of businessmen and women waltz through the door, their proper attire definitely not belonging in South Park. One loud shriek can be heard from Tweek as he’s practically vibrating behind the counter, eyes the size of saucers. He’s probably going to faint at this rate, there’s no way he can handle such a big crowd at once. Despite my earlier promise to never set a foot behind the counter at Tweek Bros. Coffee, I grab an apron and push Tweek towards the backroom, “I’ll take it, you make it.”

Tweek nods rapidly and slams the door shut, leaving me alone to deal with the horde of snobs. It can’t be _that_ different from handling bitchy customers at the cinema.

* * *

 

Turns out that it was very different from handling bitchy customers at the cinema.

Apparently, to work at a coffee shop, you need to know stuff about coffee. Who would have thought? All it took was two “non-fat latte with caramel drizzle” and one “non-fat frappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate sauce” before I blatantly told everyone that it was either black coffee or fuck off. Needless to say, the line got shorter after that.

Tweek opened the door slightly, pressing his face through the crack, “are they gone?”

“Yes,” I gesture to the now empty shop, “just us.”

“Good- good,” he takes a deep breath and leans his head on the counter, “I’m-ngh-sorry.”

“For what?”

“Forcing you to work!” He sends me a glare, “can you stop playing dumb for like one second?”

“I’m not playing,” sure _maybe_ I wasn’t cooperating with him, but that doesn’t automatically make me seem dumb, does it?

“Oh- so you’re telling me that you actually _don’t_ _notice_ ,” he stands up straight and puts both hands on my shoulders, “how hard I’m trying to woo you?”

Of course I fucking notice that, it would take an idiot not to and I’m not an idiot. Swatting his hands away, I try to show my irritation with a frown. That proves to be harder than imagined though, as Tweek is smiling one of his stupid sunny smiles at me. Wiping that smile off would feel like kicking a puppy, which I’m not an advocate of.

Tweek returns to the backroom with a pep in his step, then proceeds to wave for me to follow him inside. Already having broken the oath of not placing a single foot behind the shop’s counter, walking further in now won’t really matter.

Inside the room Tweek is fearlessly perched upon a very rickety stool, which is weird since he was scared of doing exactly that just a few minutes ago, and grabs something from the top shelf. Why the hell is everything in this goddamn shop put on high shelves, do they have a death wish or something? Tweek doesn’t fall and die though, instead coming down and handing me a small parcel.

“This is?” I look at the parcel in confusion.

“Some-nh-ladies dropped by yesterday and told me to hand it to my dad,” he unties the ribbon and lifts the top of the box, “you like cookies, right?”

“That’s sly,” I note and grab one of the cookies. They’re tiny with a checkerboard pattern and taste pretty good.

Tweek shoves a few into his own mouth and nods in agreement, “it’s not like he’ll miss them, he gets new ones every day. I swear we-gnh-have _at least_ 500 boxes at home.”

“Never knew your dad was that popular,” that was an understatement, I never even knew Richard Tweak was _likeable_. He wasn’t necessarily a bad guy, despite the meth business from a few years back. But most adults in this godforsaken town are nutcases, putting meth in coffee is one of the milder things that have been done here, so it was quickly glossed over by Randy March pulling one of his moronic stunts. But while Richard Tweak isn’t a bad person, he does have this air about him. I’ve always found him unapproachable, he’s so spacey and hard to read, it’s unsettling.

“Me neither! I think they just want coffee discounts though. Probably,” he grabs another cookie, “he’s still single you know.”

“I hope you’re not hooking me up with your dad.”

Tweek chokes on the cookie and goes beet red, “I’m not! God no, you and my- my _dad_!?” He takes a deep breath and twiddles his thumbs, “I don’t want to imagine that.”

“Then don’t,” I pick up another cookie.

About one minute passes in silence as Tweek calms down, chewing on the same cookie for an unnecessarily long amount of time, “maybe they’re trying to buy his affection with pastries.”

“What.”

“Well, think about it!” He gestures to the now almost empty box in my hands, “everyone knows that they say the-nhg-fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach!”

Grabbing the last cookie the box has to offer, I give it a sceptical look, “Tweek.”

“Yeah?” He fumbly takes a hold of the box shoved into his hands.

“You can’t buy my affection with cookies,” I stare him dead in the eye, “even if they were pretty damn good.”

He gives me a confused look before his eyes travel down to the now empty box, then snorts. He clutches the box tight with trembling hands and breaks into a fit of giggles. The laughing proves to be quite contagious, seeing as I find myself laughing alongside him. It feels nice being like this, laughing together like when we were kids. Maybe Tweek isn’t a _complete_ jerk.

“I-I’m aware,” he wheezes in between the giggling, “which is why I made you something.”

Tweek grabs a ceramic mug from a table and hands it to me with a expectant smile, probably waiting for my reaction. The mug is not from the shop, that much is obvious. It has a distinct polka dot design, except it’s not dots but guinea pigs. It’s been 8 years and he still remembers my love for guinea pigs?

Tweek slowly grows anxious under the lack of reaction and explains himself, “I know you-hn-like guinea pigs! Or, well, _liked_? God- what if you don’t like them now!? Why didn’t I ask first-” he starts pulling his hair but I quickly interrupt him.

“I love it,” I try my best to give him a reassuring smile, “thanks, Tweek.”

Tweek lets out a relieved sigh and points towards the mug, or the liquid inside the mug to be precise, “It’s a latte, I made it for you.”

“Why?” I question with a curious glance. I have never been a fan of coffee, sure I drink it but that’s merely because of its effectiveness. Whether it tastes good or not has never been my concern, as long as it keeps my lifeless body somewhat awake I’m content.

“Because,” he does an attempt at finger guns with twitching hands and winks, “I like you a latte!”

His failed attempt at looking cool has me laughing again, causing Tweek to blush furiously, but he eventually joins in on the laughter. Ever since Tweek came back I’ve been so busy being hostile, bitter and filled with anger that I forgot what caused it in the first place, that I missed being with him like this. Sure he’s an asshole, _definitely_ an asshole, but maybe giving him a second chance wouldn’t be the end of the world. Just maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took quite some time to write due to school, but here it finally is  
> I really appreciate all of your comments and love to see what you think about the story, so thank you!  
> The next chapter probably won't take as long to write as this one though!


	7. Soda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been about a month now since I started this fic, and I wanted to thank you all for your support!  
> Your comments mean a lot and I'm happy you seem to be enjoying it so far!

Knocking on the door with uncertainty, I wait patiently for one of the two occupants to open. Maybe going here without telling Tweek wouldn’t be appreciated, but it’s not like I have his number and can text him.

Few minutes pass before the door is slowly opened, a tired looking Richard Tweak on the other side.

“Why, hello Craig!” He greets way too gleefully for someone that just woke up at the break of dawn on a Saturday.

“Is Tweek ready? I’m picking him up,” the shit-eating grin on Richard’s face has me quickly adding, “for our project.”

He seems to consider his answer carefully before going with, “he’s sleeping.” Of course he’s sleeping, no sane person would be up willingly at this hour on a Saturday. That’s just masochism.

Richard returns inside and gestures for me to follow, grabbing three mugs with largely distinctive designs from a shelf. One of the mugs looks like a cat, ears sticking up at the top. The other two also somewhat resemble animals, one being a frog and the other a mouse. At least now I know where Tweek got the guinea pig mug from.

Never having been a morning person, I find myself nodding vigorously when Richard offers coffee. I take a seat at the table and wait in silence for the coffee to be done brewing, one look around the house and I notice how different it is from when we were kids. The furniture is more or less the same, but it feels more like a _home_ now rather than just a house you live in. I can’t quite put my finger on why though.

The coffee maker’s sizzle breaks the silence and Richard pours the beverage in the three mugs, then grabs a small can from the fridge, “Breakfast!”

The yelling was too loud for this early in the morning so I cover my ears, but despite that I can still hear the stampede running down the stairs. My first guess would be Tweek, but that’s definitely more than one pair of feet. The yelling from upstairs also confirms that it is indeed not Tweek, as he’ll apparently be downstairs in a second.

I feel something soft rub against my leg and am met with the sight of a very hairy black cat staring at me expectantly with big eyes. It quickly tires of me though and runs up to Richard and the rest of the cats. Is this a cat zoo or something? That’s _at least_ five cats.

Richard empties the can on multiple plates on the floor then grabs the mugs and sits down in the chair opposite me, sliding the frog mug across the table.

“So Craig, how is life treating you?” He asks with a serene smile, taking a sip from the cat mug.

“Oh- uh, good? good,” caught off-guard, I answer with more uncertainty than intended. Richard really has a knack for being creepy as fuck.

He simply hums in response, taking another sip of the coffee. His eyes are glued to the floor on my left, following his gase I see a calico cat playing with some dust. The cat feels somewhat familiar, even though I can’t for the life of me place where  I could have possibly seen it before.

“Her name is Marlene, but all her friends call her Marl,” Richard says with a laugh upon noticing my stare, “she’s your sister’s favorite!” That explains it.

Our discussion about my sister’s apparent interest in my ex-boyfriend’s dad’s cats is cut short as I hear a shriek from the stairs. Tweek currently gawking at us from the stairs, completely frozen with eyes the size of saucers.

“Gah-what are you doing here!? Leave!” He quickly runs down the stairs and drags my arm towards the door, not that I’m about to let him interrupt my coffee just to be shoved outside in the cold. Standing my ground, I take a moment to inspect his now struggling form. He’s currently wearing his pajamas, unless he planned on going out in green flannel sweats and a tank-top with the print “GAY” in big, rainbow letters. His necklace also appears to be on backwards and his hair looks like a bird’s nest, how restless of a sleeper is this guy?

Noticing my stare, Tweek looks down at his shirt and a blush rises to his cheeks, “m-my mom bought this!”

Snorting, I grab the two mugs from the table, “get dressed, we’re leaving.”

Tweek answers with a nod and scrambles upstairs again, almost tripping on a few steps. _How_ this guy is still alive being beyond me.

He gets done fast enough and after waving a quick bye to Richard, we’re on our way to the cinema. I hand Tweek the mouse mug as we walk, watching his eyes light up as he grabs it. The look on his face reminiscent of a child opening their gifts on christmas.

We walk in silence, but this time the lack of noise doesn’t feel awkward. It feels _right_. Caught in the moment, my mouth opens on its own accord, voicing the question that has been plaguing my mind ever since he came back.

“Why did you break up with me?”

Tweek goes visibly tense and stops dead in his tracks. Just like that time 8 years ago. He starts fiddling his thumbs, eyes darting everywhere.

“Y-you don’t _know_?” He croaks out, the answer catching me off-guard. How the hell would I know why he broke up with me when he just fucking left without word?

“No? How the fuck would I know?”

The slight twitch and anger flashing across Tweek’s eyes are gone as soon as they appear, but don’t go unnoticed.

“I don’t know, I guess it was stupid to think you would,” comes his glum reply as he quickens his pace to walk ahead of me. What’s his problem? _I’m_ the one _he_ left, not the other way around. What gives him the right to seek _my_ sympathies?

“It was,” I scoff. Why would I give Tweek a second chance if he can’t even tell me something that simple, and frankly, _really quite fucking important_.

We resume the walk in silence, this time with a noticeable distance between us. The atmosphere went from comfortable to tense and if it wasn’t for the fact that I need money I would just walk straight home. I do need money though, so that’s not an option.

With quick strides we shortly arrive at the cinema, Tweek moving aside to leave me room for unlocking the door. The gigantic cloud of awkwardness is still looming over us as we make our way to the lockers. Stopping just inside the doorway, I turn around to face Tweek.

“I’m gonna change, wait out here.”

He nods in reply and sits down on the old bench as I close the door. What is stopping him from telling me what the hell is problem is? Feeling a surge of annoyance, I walk towards the locker with brisk steps and quickly change into the uniform. I waited _8 years_ to see him again, and now he’s back. Except he’s a fucking asshole now. I slam the locker shut harsher than intended, the loud sound echoing through the room. Fuck Tweek.

When I open the door I am greeted with the unpleasant sight of not only Tweek, but Tweek chatting happily with _Kenny_.

“He’s back now,” Kenny says upon noticing me entering the room and puts a reassuring hand on Tweek’s shoulder, “good luck, soldier.”

Scoffing, I wave for Tweek to follow me as I make my way to the counter. There’s no one else but us here, making the room completely silent except for the air conditioner’s whirring. I seem to forget how boring this job actually is with every week that passes.

Not in the mood to endure thick thick tension hours on end, I start the popcorn machine. If the boss doesn’t care about me throwing out 75% of the shop’s candy, I highly doubt he will care about me eating some popcorn for free.

Tweek anxiously glances at the machine from time-to-time, curiosity apparent in his eyes.

Not in the mood for his bullshit and dancing around subjects, I call out “what.”

“Erk-nothing! I just- octopuses,” he starts tugging his hair and gestures towards the popcorn maker.

“What?” I find myself asking. Octopuses?

“Yeah! Popcorn kinda looks like-nnh-octopuses, don’t you think?” No I absolutely do not think that.

Sensing my disbelief, he opens the machine at the moment it bings and shoves a piece of popcorn in my face, “look that’s the head, and the explodey part are the tentacles!”

“That’s not eight arms though.”

He looks at the piece in annoyance and throws it in his mouth, then grabs a new one. He repeats this process about 10 times before once again turning to me, “you gonna help or what?”

“With what, eating popcorn? I think you can handle that yourself.”

He puts another piece in his mouth and pouts, “no dumbass, I’m looking for an eight-legged octopus.”

* * *

 

We end up wasting time searching for the “legendary eight-legged poptopus,” as Tweek named it, for the majority of the shift. Despite having put up the sign to signal any wandering customer that the shop is closed, a few brave souls still asked me to ring up their purchase.

“We’re closed.”

“But you’re right there, it’ll be quick just-”

“No we’re not.”

Needless to say, the customer encounters ended as quickly as they started, mostly with the customer walking away in annoyance with the promise of a call reaching my boss.

I’m suddenly brought back to reality from my thoughts by a hand grabbing my shoulder hard and shaking me harshly. In his other hand is a piece of popcorn proudly displayed between his fingers, “look Craig, I found it.”

Before I get the chance to answer he has already put the piece in his mouth and swallowed.

“The discovery of a lifetime, and you ate it?”

He laughs in response and rises to a stand, removing the dust gathered on his pants from sitting on the floor for hours, “when does this shift end?”

I glance towards the clock, noticing how much time has passed since we started, “now.”

Walking towards the lockers to change, I see Tweek grabbing one of the paper cups for soda from the counter. It’s not like the boss will notice someone getting soda for free, and even if he did notice I think the bigger problem would be the five bags of popcorn now missing. Changing barely takes a minute and I soon find myself walking outside with Tweek, the latter happily drinking whatever he picked from the soda dispenser.

“The coffee shop is better,” he takes a swig of the soda, “at least we do stuff.”

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know I do loads of work at the cinema. This is homophobic slander.”

Tweek snorts and almost drops the cup, just barely catching it. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

We walk in silence for a few minutes before Tweek’s eventual time to depart has arrived. I expected him to simply turn around, for us to walk separate ways without a word, but I was foolish to think that. Instead of following my expectations, Tweek turns to face me.

“Your name tag,” of course he was going to bring _that_ up, “it’s wrong.” I nod in agreement.

“Hey _Craig_ , are you sure your name isn’t sprite?” He doesn’t move closer, but as he takes another swig there’s an obvious mischievous gleam in his eyes, “because you look so-da-licious!”

After saying that he skips away, humming some upbeat tune. It’s not like he actually means the stuff he says, right? They’re just stupid pickup-lines. Made by stupid people, for stupid people to use on other stupid people. He’s just trying to mess with my head, knowing that I still haven’t been able to move on despite him leaving _8 years ago_ . Maybe he’s just messing with me so he can leave again, like he did when we were 10. But that’s too bad for him, because I don’t crack that easily, and I’m _definitely_ not about to make the same mistake I did when I was 10. If his plan is to leave South Park, then he better think again.


	8. Sugar

Sundays have never been considered a good day of the weekend. All Sunday has going for it is the impending doom of the upcoming Monday, which brings joy to exactly no one. Still, despite being Sunday today feels kind of nice. Not that working at the cinema is nice, because it’s not. I despise this place with all of my heart and would waste no time burning it to the ground, if the opportunity presented itself.

“Craig- earth to Craig! Hello!” A loud voice interrupts my thoughts as a hand is being waved in front of my face.

“What the fuck do you want, Clyde?” I answer him with a scowl. The worst thing about this job was dealing with annoying customers, which was a term that fit Clyde to a T.

“Can you please give me a free movie ticket? Pretty pleeeease?” He whines and makes an attempt at puppy eyes, which ends up looking more like a grotesque grimace than anything.

“No,” a simple answer, concise. Even someone like Clyde is bound to get it through their thick skull.

“I have a date you know! Help a bro out?” Clyde answers as he puffs his chest out proudly. Apparently I underestimated the thickness of Clyde’s skull.

“No, you don’t. No one likes you Clyde and you’re not getting any damn tickets.”

Looking crestfallen, Clyde walks out of the cinema in defeat. The shop has been surprisingly busy for a Sunday morning, with more than 20 people showing up. Kenny did mention something about a new Terrance and Phillip movie though, so that’s probably why.

My shift could not have ended sooner and pulling up the “closed” sign in a bitchy customer’s face brings an indescribable feeling of euphoria. The locker room is empty when I arrive, which is nothing out of the ordinary. As I undress the thought of a certain blonde crosses my mind. Tweek didn’t show up today. Not that we made plans or anything, but he has shown up on so many shifts now that it’s become the norm. What if he left again, wouldn’t that be funny? If he did then I’m sure he’s laughing his stupid ass off right now, enjoying my misery to its fullest. If he really did leave I’m going to kick his ass.

* * *

 

Turns out Tweek didn’t leave, as I see him smiling happily in class the next day. As soon as his eyes fall on me he waves me over, guess Kenny’s and my seat switches are permanent now.

“Okay Craig, so I was thinking-” I quickly cut him off, “that’s unusual.”

“Fuck you, man,” he answers with a giggle.

“I bet you’d like to,” leaves my mouth before my brain registers the meaning behind those words. I can feel my face heat up as a small blush adorns Tweek face, well this is just fucking _amazing_.

“A-anyway, as I was saying,” he forces out despite the awkwardness hanging in the air around us, “the coffee shop is definitely the better choice.”

“No,” I utter instinctively. Not to say that I disagree with Tweek, the coffee shop is definitely better than the run-down dump known as South Park’s cinema, but disagreeing with Tweek is just easier than agreeing.

“Why not?” Tweek asks with a tiny voice, probably trying to guilt me into agreeing with him or something.

“Because,” It’s not like I have a reason for it, “it just doesn’t feel right.”

Tweek frowns and lets out an exasperated sigh, “what are you, a hippy?”

The teacher tells us to quiet down as she starts the lecture, babbling on about something I find myself not paying attention to. Instead, my eyes are drawn to the boy on my left, inspecting his every move. Tweek does by no means move gracefully. He’s about as graceful as a baby deer, which says a lot. But his twitchy clumsiness adds a certain charm that apparently hasn’t been lost in the 8 years he was away. Not to say that Tweek is charming. Well he is charming, objectively speaking, but that doesn’t mean _I_ find him charming. Not at all.

The moment the bell rings a pair of hands abruptly disturb my thoughts by grabbing my collar.

“Free coffee,” are the words Tweek utter as he pulls my face closer to his, but not close enough to touch.

“W-what,” my voice shakes due to the close proximity.

“If we pick the coffee shop I’ll give you free coffee,” he lets go of my collar as soon as I find myself nodding him yes.

“No sugar, right?” he asks while scribbling something on his hand. I opt for a simple nod again.

“Because you’re already sweet enough?” He asks with a laugh and leaves the classroom, a sunny smile plastered on his face. My stomach did not do a flip at that statement, and Tweek is definitely not cute. Well maybe he’s a little cute, objectively speaking of course.

* * *

 

“So I was standing there, french fries in my pockets- Craig!” Clyde yells at the top of his lungs and waves like a maniac.

I sit down in the empty seat next to Clyde as he continues whatever ridiculous story he has come up with this time. Clyde has always had a certain way of exaggerating the truth just a tiny bit, we all know this but never point it out. The enthusiasm in which he tells them makes the otherwise mundane story way more entertaining.

“-So I ate them, kinda tasted like pants, but still good. 7/10,” Jimmy and Token burst out laughing at that, which makes Clyde join in and almost choke on some corn. Lunch is always like this with the three of them. We sit at the same table, in the same seats, with the same people. It’s routine by this point.

Little did I know that routines could be easily broken.

Token notices something in the corner of his eyes before sending a mischievous grin my way, “Hey Tweek! Do you want to sit with us?” Oh no.

Tweek startles and grips his tray harder, visibly relaxing when he sees who called his name, “Sure!” He answers with a smile. Oh fuck.

Clyde scoots closer to my side of the bench to make room for Tweek to sit down. At least he’s not sitting in the middle like last time, after this morning I’ve had enough Tweek to last me at least three lifetimes.

“So Tweek, any exciting stories from your life outside South Park?” Token brings up when the table has quieted down. What’s with him today, suddenly super talkative and inviting other people to _our_ table.

“Oh-uh-not really! I mostly-gnh-just went to school and practiced playing the piano when I was home,” Tweek answers with an awkward laugh, then quietly adds, “I didn’t really have any friends.”

Clyde quickly grabs Tweek’s hands, tears and snot running down his cheeks like waterfalls, “That’s the saddest story I’ve heard in 20 years!” Token’s mention of Clyde only being 17 goes unnoticed by the crying moron, “but we’re your friends! You’re a part of our group, right guys!?”

Tweek’s expression goes from anxious to bright as both Jimmy and Token give him a thumbs up, which leaves the attention on me. When his eyes land on me, Tweek’s expression once again changes to something else. His lips are curved in a pleasant smile, but his eyes have a smug and determined shine. I can feel myself inwardly gulp as I give him an unsure thumbs up. He has already embarrassed me in front of the others once, I wouldn’t put it past him to do it again. That’s just what assholes do.

Clyde quickly picks off where Token ended, bombarding Tweek with more annoying questions. What’s his favorite food, taste in music, which girl he finds the most attractive in the school. Nothing that has anything to do with Tweek living across the country for 8 years. And did his brain fucking short-circuit or did he actually forget that Tweek was our friend when we were 10, it might have been 8 years but any decent human being would remember this stuff. Tweek’s favorite food? Oatmeal, especially with blueberries. Taste in music? Anything melodious. Most attractive girl in school? Tweek never cared much for looks, but personality-wise he preferred Heidi because of her calm demeanor. He also really liked cinnamon rolls, it was almost a borderline obsession. After the whole North Korea fiasco he started baking a lot of different things, one of which being cinnamon rolls. He said their swirly pattern calmed him down and just ended up making tons of them.

Recollecting my thoughts, I glance at the clock. Seeing as the lunch break is almost over I start packing my things and rise to a stand, but what Clyde suddenly asks catches my attention.

“Tweek do you have a crush on anyone?”

Tweek’s face seems to pass through the five stages of grief and a plethora of different reds before he calmly answers, “yes.”

With my interest now piqued, I sit down again and shoot Jimmy a glare for his knowing snicker. Did Tweek have a crush on someone from wherever the hell he lived for 8 years? If that’s the case, the why does he continuously abuse me with flirty remarks, and pickup-lines, and those bright smiles with red cheeks? Unless the person he has a crush on is me.

Cheeks suddenly flaring up and clothes feeling a bit too hot for comfort, I quickly slam my hands on the table and make a run for it. Pulling my hat down far enough to hopefully somewhat cover my face, I slam the bathroom door shut behind me and splash some cold water in my face. It’s not as if I _didn’t_ know Tweek liked me, he said so himself when we first met. But it’s a fact that has kind of slipped my mind for the past weeks, something that gives Tweek’s flirtiness a bit more depth. Something that maybe makes my heart flutter just a little bit.


	9. Barbecue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a bit longer to write due to its length, but it's here now so enjoy!

After Token’s invitation for Tweek to sit at our table, him being there became a part of the routine. He hasn’t pulled any stupid stunts like the first time and the others aren’t bugging me about him, so I don’t find myself minding it too much. It’s nostalgic in a way, it almost feels the same as when we were 10 and shared a table. Granted, Stan and the other assholes sometimes joined us, but you won’t catch me dead with either of them now. The point is, Tweek sitting with us isn’t an issue. _Wasn’t_ an issue.

For about five years now we’ve all gone on a camping trip once a year, something about “manly bonding,” Clyde’s words not mine. It just so happens that this year’s trip has been planned for this weekend. Which apparently, Clyde thought it was an amazing idea to invite Tweek to.

“It’s gonna be awesome! Just us and the _wilderness_.”

“Clyde last time you got scared by a squirrel.”

“Shush Token, that’s unimportant.”

Jimmy and Token agreed that they didn’t mind Tweek tagging along, saying some bullshit about it being a good way to “reconnect” after so many years apart. What a load of shit. They just want to pester me about my nonexistent lovelife like the annoying fucking imps they are.

“Alright so let’s go through the plan again, to make sure no mistakes are made like last time, _Clyde_ ,” Token starts and grabs a clipboard from his bag.

“Why did you single me out!? Jimmy and Craig were in on it too!” I was most certainly not in on it.

“It takes two to t-t-t-t-tango, but only one to set the tent on f-f-f-f-ablaze.”

The camping trip last year really put your sanity to test, with Clyde almost burning down the forest and all. It started out good enough, me and Token putting up the two tents while Clyde and Jimmy prepared the fire pit. We all know Clyde is stupid, but neither of us expected him to think starting a fire inside one of the tents because he was cold was a good idea. Jimmy and I saw him enter the tent with the supplies, but didn’t think he was being serious when he told us he was starting a fire. We realized our mistake as soon as the tent was on fire with Clyde crying on the outside. Needless to say, the the fire department was not happy.

“I’m bringing the tents, Clyde the food and Craig the snacks. We have a new tent this year thanks to Clyde, so don’t burn it down,” Token reads off of the clipboard.

“Wait, what am I-gnhh-supposed to bring?” Tweek asks with uncertainty, taking a bite out of his sandwich. Whole wheat bread, cheese and ham, not a choice one would expect of Tweek Tweak.

“Just bring yourself and you’ll be fine!” Token answers with a reassuring smile, “we’ll meet at the usual place, Saturday afternoon.”

Everyone nods in agreement as the bell rings, signaling the lunch’s end. Despite answering any remark about the camping trip less than enthusiastic, it was an event worth looking forward to each year. Not that I would ever tell any of my friends that. I even managed to get my boss to arrange for me to work the later shift on sunday so I would have time to get home from the woods. This has all been going according to plan, before Clyde decided to invite Tweek that is.

* * *

 

“I bought this chocolate bar but I’m lactose intolerant, so I demand a refund.”

“You already ate it.”

“Did you not hear me? I’m lactose intolerant! Do you have any idea what this chocolate has done to my body?”

“How about you try _not_ buying chocolate to begin with?”

There’s something about early mornings at the cinema that attracts the stupidest people in this godforsaken town. Just like any other morning, the customer storms off while making sure the shop is ruined enough to make an experienced vandalizer quiver.

I glance at the clock, only 10 minutes left of standing behind this counter. If I call over Kenny go clean now, maybe I’ll have time to leave before he arrives.

My thoughts are interrupted by the bell by the doors chiming someone’s arrival. Assuming that it’s another annoying customer, I put on my best “fuck off” face and hope for the best. Luckily, it’s not a customer. Well maybe Tweek _should_ be considered a customer, but I haven’t since the day he first got here.

He walks up to the counter with careful steps, twiddling his thumbs in the process. On his back he has a large backpack and he’s wearing a warm jacket and a too-big beanie. I quirk a brow, giving him a curious glance.

“It gets cold at night!” Is his response to my stare. He keeps twiddling his thumbs as his eyes dart everywhere but me before he continues, “sorry for ruining your friend time.”

“My what.”

“Your-ngh-friend time! I know you don’t want me to come,” he looks down at the floor with a glum look on his face. The sullen look really doesn’t suit his otherwise happy and bright face.

“You’re my friend too,” comes my simple reply to his statement. Despite being an insufferable asshole, I find myself enjoying his company way more than I would ever admit to out loud.

Tweek blushes slightly at the answer, smile making its way back on his face, “that’s good then.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I don’t know where we’re supposed to meet.”

“Just the usual place, same as always.”

Tweek’s eye twitches as he glares at me in frustration, “are you daft? This is my first time going there!”

Realization finally kicking in, I put two and two together, “oh.”

Tweek drums his fingers against the counter as he waits impatiently for a reply. The slight flush and annoyed look adorning his face really doesn’t look as intimidating as Tweek probably hopes. He’s quite cute, objectively speaking.

“Just by Stark’s Pond, we pick a spot together when everyone gets there,” despite having been given an answer, Tweek still looks unsatisfied.

Eyes locked on the cash register to avoid my face, he addresses me, “could we maybe walk there together?”

I nod, not really minding spending more time with Tweek. It used to be my favorite thing to do, other than watching Red Racer and playing with Stripe of course, and it seems like some things never truly change no matter how many years pass.

* * *

 

We walk through the door quietly, if any member of my family saw Tweek they would flip their shit and we’d never get out of here. We had to make a stop at my house before meeting with the others since I didn’t bring my stuff to the cinema, carrying around a sleeping bag isn’t very conventional. Speaking of which, Tweek’s luggage looks surprisingly light for containing a sleeping bag.

“Dude did you bring a sleeping bag?”

Tweek’s eyes grow the size of saucers as he stares at me in sudden realization, “we were supposed to bring one!? Token didn’t tell me, so the thought never crossed my mind!”

I instinctively reach out for his hands when he starts frantically pulling his hair and whimpering, “it’s fine, we have a spare so you can borrow mine.”

I bring both sleeping bags out of the house, handing Tweek the one covered in space-themed patches.

“Isn’t this one yours?” He asks with uncertainty.

I nod, “it’s warmer, I don’t mind the cold.”

Tweek doesn’t argue and we start making our way to the meeting place. When we arrive everyone else is already there, “the l-l-l-lovebirds showing up t-t-together?”

I flip Jimmy off, which causes Clyde to erupt in a fit of laughter, so I flip him off too. It’s at times like this that I wish I was a monstrous mistake of science instead of a normal human being. Two arms just aren’t enough when you need four to flip off all your moron friends.

“There’s a clearing by the cliff, let’s camp there,” Token offers as we grab our stuff and start walking. Due to how ever-changing South Park is, there’s never one good spot that works for more than one year. Who knows, maybe this clearing by the cliff will have turned it a geysir by the time of our next trip.

“Before we raise the tents, let’s decide who uses which. The new one is quite big so three people will fit nicely,” Token begins as we reach the clearing.

Before anyone else has the chance to reply Tweek quickly yells, “Me and Craig will share!” Just loud enough to make sure the entire fucking town is guaranteed to hear it.

“Then me, Jimmy and Token will use the big one!” Clyde adds and sends a wink my way.

We all grab each of the tents, Tweek quickly dragging us both to put it up at the right. He looks awfully determined for someone that has probably never been outside for longer than three hours, smiling with pride as he completely fucks up the tent.

“Dude that’s not how you do it,” I tell him once he’s finished turning the entire thing inside-out.

Tweek drops it all with a frown, “couldn’t have told me that earlier?”

“No, your determination was cute,” the sentence is said before my mind has the time to register it and a smirk quickly forms on Tweek’s face, “mind saying that again?”

“Oh fuck off.”

Not to brag about my non-existent camping expertise, but putting the tent up was miles easier than Tweek made it appear. Instructions _do_ exist for a reason.

With both the tents being done, Jimmy and Clyde journey out through the woods to gather some branches while the rest of us dig a pit for the fire. It doesn’t end up as something too spectacular, but it’s good enough for five idiots trying to “connect with nature,” as Clyde puts it. The two aren’t gone for long and soon return with a few branches and what appears to be the corpse of a dead bird. Looking closer, yeah that’s definitely a dead bird.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I gesture towards the cadaver.

“We found it!” Clyde beams and shows off the feathered mess proudly, “maybe we can eat it?”

“Are you _insane_!? You don’t know where that’s been!” Tweek shrieks and moves behind my back, as if I wouldn’t sacrifice him if Clyde dared to take one step closer with that disease-ridden lump of feathers.

“Amen to that,” Jimmy snickers and quickly grabs the bird from Clyde’s hands to throw it away.

Clyde mourns the loss of his find, but quickly recomposes himself once he notices the food Token is carrying towards the pit, “did you bring  everything for the barbecue?”

“Yes, it’s kebab!” Clyde answers with pride.

Having been the only one to bring a lighter, Jimmy puts a few branches in the pit and lights them on fire. Clyde and Jimmy manage to drag Tweek along to help with the cooking, leaving me alone with none other than _Token The Snooper_. If there is anyone that doesn’t know how to keep out of other’s business, it’s Token.

“So, how has life been treating you lately?” Token asks nonchalantly. Nothing about my love life yet, color me surprised.

“Good,” I answer flatly.

Token seems to just barely register my answer before quickly asking his real question, “how are things with Tweek?”

There it is, there it _fucking_ is. I send him a blank stare while answering, “ _fine_.”

Token seems somewhat surprised at my answer and scratches his chin, “so you’re together again?”

Feeling my cheeks flush I abruptly rise to a stand and yell, “no, no we’re not!” Then proceed to make my escape into the woods. This conversation will fuel Token’s pestering for sure, fantastic. “Do you like Tweek” this and “stop being in denial” that. Well, maybe they haven’t said that last thing, but that doesn’t change the point. The fact of the matter here is that what I think about Tweek, or do with Tweek, or just anything involving Tweek, is none of anyone else’s business. Period.

Sitting down on a fallen tree trunk, I look up at the sky. The sun has already begun setting, not surprising since it’s been a few hours since we got here. The stars aren’t visible yet, and probably won’t be later tonight either. The forecast mentioned clouds. Then again, the forecast isn’t always right.

“Craig- Dude! Don’t just run off! You might get eaten by a bear, or worse, miss the awesome scary story Jimmy is about to tell!” Clyde yells as he bursts through the woods and flings his body over my lap, “is something up?”

“No, move your fat ass so I can walk,” I say and shove him off.

Clyde laughs and as we make our way back to camp we’re greeted by the pleasant scent of food. Not being much of a cook myself, it’s always appreciated when others prepare good food instead.

“Take a s-s-s-seat, gentlemen,” Jimmy says and gestures towards where Tweek and Token are currently sitting. Clyde scuttles over to Token’s side, leaving me no choice other than sitting next to Tweek.

“It was a dark, dark n-n-n-night,” Jimmy starts when Tweek suddenly grabs my hand. I give him a questioning look and he leans in a bit closer to whisper, “ _I’m not good with scary stuff_.”

Giving him a reassuring nod, I try to bring my attention back to Jimmy and his story. Try being the keyword here, since Tweek didn’t move further away after leaning in he’s still pressed lightly at my side. His head rests on my neck and I can feel his every breath, the way it hitches at particularly scary moments, the way it speeds up close to the climax, the way it relaxes when I squeeze his hand a little. I barely notice the story coming to an end as Tweek grip my hand tightly.

“And the good doctor was never seen again! But some say that on nights when the moon is full, you can still hear his cries and yearning for _revenge_ ,” Jimmy finishes and points towards the sky, “looks like there’s a full moon tonight, sleep tight boys.”

Clyde audibly shudders and grabs one of the kebabs, “it wasn't _that_ scary.”

“Dude you’re shaking like a leaf,” Token points out.

Clyde laughs sheepishly as we all grab some of the food. Glancing over at Tweek, he takes the kebab with slow motions, careful not to burn himself on the grill. We all then sit down in blissful silence, until Clyde opens his mouth to tell some ridiculous story about a girl he claims to have met. I let out a deep sigh and take a bite out of my own kebab.

A few minutes into the story Tweek scoots a bit closer and nudges my side. I raise a brow in confusion and he gestures for me to move in closer. Moving in closer, the feeling of his cupped hands touching my face and breath on my ear causes me to shudder lightly.

“ _Do you know what I think?_ ” He whispers with a sultry voice. I shake my head and take a deep breath, feeling my cheeks flush as he continues, “ _I think you’re barbe-cute!_ ”

Tweek leans back again and takes a big bite out of his kebab, sending a playful wink my way with a barely audible giggle. Tugging down the strings of my chullo, I quickly turn my head the other way. One day without Tweek being a fuckass tease is apparently impossible to achieve, go figure. Fan-fucking-tastic. Luckily for me, the others seem to have been too engrossed in Clyde’s stupid story to notice the scene. Literally the only time I have ever appreciated Clyde’s definitely made-up events.

The rest of the evening goes by without a hitch and everyone agrees that it’s time to sleep. We all make our ways into our assigned tents and I barely hear Tweek mention something about “too dark,” before I pass out.

* * *

 

I’m woken up by the rustling of leaves and lack of Tweek on my right, did he leave?

Maybe this was the night he decided to finally leave for good. Unnerved by the thought, I quickly put on my shoes and run outside. Upon exiting the tent I notice the chilly air and grab a blanket as well, then head out into the woods. Well not really the woods, just the clearing by the cliff since that’s where I notice a vague, Tweek-resembling figure.

The figure doesn’t move much, if it wasn’t for the sunny blonde hair I probably would have written it off as a boulder. He doesn’t seem to have noticed my approach and jumps with a shriek when I sit down.

“A warning would be nice! Jesus Christ.”

“What are you doing out here?” I ask as my hand accidentally brushes his arm, it’s cold, “dude you’re like an ice block.”

“The tent was too dark, I told you I’m not good with scary stuff,” he points towards the sky, “but the moon and stars shine bright.”

My eyes follow his finger and are met with a clear sky, no clouds in sight. Seems like the forecast was wrong.

“Also I am pretty cold, care to share?” He asks and tugs at my blanket before I get the chance to answer.

We end up sharing the blanket underneath the stars, neither of us saying a word. The silence is comfortable though, just sitting there is enough. It seems like an eternity has passed in silence before Tweek decides to open his mouth.

“I only left because I had to move, it was nothing against you.”

I look at him with a frown, “you didn’t tell me you were leaving.”

Eyes downcast, Tweek starts pulling his hair frantically, “I didn’t know how! I didn’t-nghh-didn’t want to leave! Telling you would mean that I’m _actually_ leaving and I didn’t want that.”

Grabbing his hands to stop them from pulling at his hair, I place a chaste kiss at the top of his head. It’s what used to calm him down when we were 10 and seemingly still works just as well. Tweek takes a few moments to calm down, his steady breaths lulling my own head into a place of drowsiness.

“Look,” I gesture towards the sky, “I’ll be going there someday.”

Tweek looks up, the stars’ light making his face shimmer in the dark, “to the moon?”

“Yeah man,” I puff my chest out proudly, “as the first gay in space, it will be my duty to put a pride flag on the moon.”

Tweek snorts and falls into a fit of laughter, the tense atmosphere from before completely gone, “so you haven’t given up on becoming an astronaut?”

I shake my head, “I’ll go as far away as I can from Stan and those guys, and if the farthest is space then so be it.”

Tweek lets out a snicker, “not much seems to have changed since I left.”

“South Park will always be South Park,” I say with a shrug, “but you don’t seem to have changed much either, still aiming on taking over the coffee shop?”

“That’s why I came back!” Tweek answers with a huge grin, “and I never planned on leaving to begin with.”

If he came back to work in the shop, then it’s safe to say that he won’t leave again, right? Noticing my concern, Tweek scoots closer and slings an arm over my shoulders, “I’m here to stay this time.”

The wind’s whistling and rustling of leaves bring a certain calmness. Tweek’s slow breaths and pulse, the beat of his heart and warmth, maybe it’s not so bad. I feel my head rest against his shoulder with a yawn. My eyes slowly close as I hear Tweek’s quiet snores. Why not just go with it? If he’s here to stay then what’s the harm. Maybe giving him another chance won’t be so bad.

Just maybe, though.


	10. Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a month, but the chapter is here!  
> There's less than half left of the story, I hope you'll all stick around to the end

I cram myself through the surprisingly full entrance, the cinema having this many visitors being a surprise I didn’t see coming. Taking the late-night shift probably wasn’t a very good idea.

When the guy currently manning the register notices my arrival his face lights up like a thousand suns, as if God himself has appeared before him. He abruptly drops everything he’s doing and walks out of the room, leaving me alone with an endless line of pissy customers. Great. Taking the late-night shift was _definitely_ a bad idea.

Explaining to a bitchy 30 year old that there isn’t a daycare behind the counter for them to leave their hell-spawn while they watch 50 shades of grey for the 20th time in the morning is one thing. Doing it after a long day spent dreading this very shift with a ten times more insufferable woman is another. Needless to say, I will not looking forward to the rest of this shift.

As if to somehow make matters worse than they already are, God decides to place Wendy and her faithful dog Stan inside the cinema. I can hear the couple’s bickering before actually seeing either of them, not an uncommon feat with these two.

“Stan! You promised we would go out tonight, stop sulking!”

Stan exhales as loudly as humanly possible at the statement as Wendy drags him to buy the tickets. If it wasn’t for the obviously human features, one could easily mistake Stan for a dog on a leach. Not that he would even need a leach, he follows Wendy around like a lost puppy.

After buying the tickets the duo starts heading towards the snacks. With Wendy being such a goody-two-shoes, there’s no way they brought their own snacks. Great. I do my utmost best to become one with the counter but alas, Stan notices my failed attempt at not being noticed and suddenly appears in front of the counter.

“Didn’t know you worked here, Craig,” Stan asks with one of his usual attempts at being a decent guy. Maybe he actually is a decent guy, but I can’t really say that I care.

“Didn’t know your assortment of clothes included puke green, guess we’re both full of surprises.”

Stan frowns with a sigh and returns to where Wendy is currently examining the contents of a bag of gummy bears. Not having the slightest interest in what the two are doing, I turn my attention to second aisle. There’s a kid standing on his tiptoes there, trying to reach the chocolate bars on the top shelf. The kid’s blonde hair and blue eyes remind of a certain someone back when we were kids, he’s just as short too. I snicker at the thought and the kid turns his attention to me.

“Are you mocking me, mister?”

“Maybe a little.”

The kid crosses his arms with a huff and goes back to reaching for the chocolate. He’s making quite the performance out of it, climbing on the shelf, grabbing a stool, jumping really high. But he still can’t grab a hold of the chocolate. Not seeing anyone approaching the counter, I make my way to the shelf, “need some help?”

“No,” the kid frowns, “I can reach it myself!”

I give him a curious look as he resumes his attempt at reaching the top shelf. It’s quite charming in its own way, the way he manages to assemble a stick out of different candies to reach the top. But his frustration becomes apparent when not even that works.

“I’ll never get it,” the kid mutters with tearful eyes.

Without a second thought I get down on my knees before him and gesture towards my back. The kid’s eyes light up in realization and he jumps on, hugging my neck tight not to fall off. With the extra height he easily reaches the chocolate nd flings his arms up in victory. The feeling of someone else on my back brings a sense of nostalgia, seeing as I haven’t carried anyone in 8 years.

After putting the kid down he reaches into his pockets to pay but I shake my head, “you earned that one yourself, no need to pay,” I put a finger in front of my mouth, “but it’s our secret, alright?”

The kid nods his head vigorously and skips out of the cinema. My attention is brought back to the counter by a bell ringing and Stan’s obvious stare, “are you running a charity?”

“No, piss off.”

Stan lets out a laugh and puts two bags of gummy bears on the counter, “when did you turn into such a softie?”

I give him a blank stare as I ring up the gummy bears, “I’ve always been a softie, don’t you remember that one time in 6th grade when I gave you a single peanut?”

Stan snorts and takes out his wallet to pay, “fair enough.”

He leaves the counter with a quick wave and scuttles back to where Wendy is waiting, tickets in hand. Despite working at a cinema I haven’t actually _been_ to a cinema in years. Mainly because South Park’s cinema is utter garbage, partially because I’ve never seen the appeal in being forced to sit in a stuffy room for two hours with bickering couples, crying babies and that one person who got dropped on the head as a kid and lost not only all functional brain cells but also the common decency to not use your phone in the theater. All in all, can’t say I’m a fan.

Watching movies in the solitude of your own room is a much more pleasant experience. There are no bickering couples, no crying babies and no idiotic dickwads unless Clyde is staying over. Since nobody is there to bother you, you can hold hands, share drinks and cuddle in peace. Tweek never liked the cinema either, talking to strangers has never been his forte. We would spend a lot of nights watching movies in either of our rooms, although mine was preferred due to it being less of a cluttered mess.

My reminiscence is cut short by someone eagerly slamming the bell on the counter, only to be harshly shoved away, “stop being annoying, fat ass!”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist Kyle, you’re scaring the children.”

Of course. Of-fucking-course. Can’t spare Stan one single glance without these assholes showing up like cockroaches. It’s like accidentally clicking on an ad for bandages and now the whole internet thinks you're into mummification.

Cartman drops what looks like the entire chips display on the counter while Kyle stares in disgust with his tiny snickers bar, “I’m not paying for that.”

The two start arguing at max volume, just to make sure everyone knows they’re here. I take it as my cue to step in when Kyle threatens to throw the register, merely because I have no doubt in my mind that he would.

“Shut the fuck up or get the fuck out, your choice.”

“Look who finally decided to show their ugly mug, hey Craig.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

The two instantly go back to arguing and I roll my eyes with a groan, how these people have stayed friends for so many years is beyond me. As kids I did find myself eating lunch with them from time to time, but merely that was enough to try my patience with these guys.

“Craig, how about a discount? A friend’s discount, if you will,” Cartman asks with a smug grin.

“We’re not friends,” I answer dryly with an unimpressed stare.

Cartman puts a hand on his chest in an act of feigning offense, “Craig, you wound me!”

I roll my eyes again with a sigh. If they’re not gonna buy anything, can they just leave?

“I’m sorry about this asshole,” Kyle says with a shake of his head, “none of the others could come so I’m stuck with him.”

“My condolences.”

“Stan doesn’t know the meaning of bros before hoes, and Kenny’s too poor for movies,” Cartman complains with a shrug.

“Didn’t ask and don’t care.”

The pair goes somewhat silent after that, well as silent as Cartman and Kyle can be, which really isn’t much. After some begging on Cartman’s part, Kyle eventually does pay for all the snacks and after what felt like a decade the two finally leave.

The rest of the evening goes by without a hitch. With only a few movies left, the cinema is mostly empty by the time I prepare to close the shop. Never having actually closed before, it takes a few tries to turn off the popcorn machine. With nothing left to do I walk to the changing room and change clothes, it’s not like anyone’s gonna buy candy _now_ anyway. When I’m done and ready to leave all the movies are over and the only thing that’s left for me to do is locking the door.

“Hey, Craig!” I drop my keys with a yelp at the shrill voice and accompanied door slam. Who in their right mind shows up at a cinema, or any store at all for that matter, right before it closes? Probably a lot of people, knowing how disappointing humankind has become.

The voice belongs to a blonde male with a green hoodie, which is a surprise to literally no one. He waves excitedly and points towards the paper cup in his hands, “you said you were working late.”

I nod silently and stare curiously at the cup, “yeah, what’s that?”

Tweek combs a hand through his hair with an attempted smirk, “would you like coffee, tea,” he takes a short breath, “or just more of me?”

He finishes the sentence with what was probably supposed to be a seductive wink, but really just looked like he got something in his eye. His cheeks flush a faint shade of pink due to my lack of response, and I find myself stifling a laugh.

“I’ll take the coffee, thanks.”

Tweek hurriedly hands me the cup with a bright smile, expectant eyes darting from the cup to my face. We stand there for a few minutes, I take a few whiffs of the coffee without tasting it. He’s probably going to wait patiently for me to finish it, so I might as well take my time-

“Craig I know you adore staring at warm liquids, but I’d like to leave fast since it looks like it’s about to start-” The deafening sound of the sky opening itself suddenly surrounds the cinema, “raining. Great.”

I take a long sip from the cup as we stare out through the window, “that’s not good.”

Tweek pulls his hair with a scoff, “you don’t say.”

We stare at the rain outside for a few more minutes before Tweek grabs my hand and pulls us outside. To the rain.

“No, no. I’m not walking in this weather.”

Tweek tightens his hold on my hand, “who said anything about walking?”

Without any time to think, Tweek bolts through the rain. His iron grip might as well have me confined by shackles, never letting go as I’m unwillingly dragged along.

Upon our arrival at Tweek’s house we’re both drenched from head to toe, because that’s what happens when you run through the rain like an idiot.

Wait- Tweek’s house? Why are we at Tweek’s house? I don’t remember signing a contract signifying our mutual residency at house 20288.

As if reading my mind, Tweek ushers me inside while explaining, “my house is the closest.” Fair enough.

After removing our dripping jackets and shoes we head upstairs. Tweek ruffles through the clothes in his closet, somehow managing to make it an even bigger mess than it was before. Taking a look around his room, it really hasn’t changed at all since I was here last. Which was when we were 10. There are still toys everywhere and pieces of lego littering the floor like the death trap it is. At least he won’t have to worry about burglars. He still has drawings on the walls from when we were kids, and I’m pretty sure those glitter gel pens aren’t a recent purchase.

My thoughts are interrupted by a shirt colliding with my face.

“Ow, fuck.”

“I didn’t throw it that hard!” He did throw it that hard.

The shirt is later followed by a pair of sweats and underwear, which I choose not to comment on. Either Tweek wants me to hold his clothes while he changes or he wants me to change into his clothes, both options being equally unappealing.

“Hurry up and change, or you’ll get a heart attack!”

“Don’t you mean cold?”

Tweek shakes his head, “cold weather increses your blood pressure, which puts more strain on your heart.”

“Another reason to never leave the house then,“ I answer while taking off my hat. I’m tempted to wring the hat over his floor, but I’m more tempted to not go outside in the rain again, so that’s a hard pass.

Tweek giggles as he removes his shirt. I would be embarrassed, was prepared to be embarrassed, had it not been for the fact that Tweek changes clothes like fucking Sonic. My eyes barely has time to register seeing his bare arms before they’re covered by another green shirt.

When he’s done Tweek stares at me with a scowl.

“What?”

“I told you to change! I don’t want you to die!” Tweek yells and starts pulling his hair.

As I feel my cheeks warm up I clear my throat, “Would your clothes even fit?”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,” is all Tweek says before leaving the room, closing the door shut behind him.

My legs slide down on the floor and I rest my back against the wall with a groan. Wearing Tweek’s clothes, while in Tweek’s house, while Tweek is there is just a bit too much of the blonde. I glance at the puddle that has formed beneath my dripping clothes and lift my shirt with a sigh. Maybe a heart attack wouldn’t be so bad.

* * *

 

It’s been five minutes since Tweek left and my mind is telling me to join him downstairs. My body however, is telling me to keep laying in his bed. Tweek’s bed is the same as I remember it from when we were 10, ugly sheets and and a hard frame to hit your head on. It still manages to be quite comfortable though, despite its flaws. It also shares the same scent as Tweek, not that that adds to the comfort, mind you. Tweek has always smelled like coffee and oranges, coffee is pretty obvious but I never figured out the oranges part. At least that hasn’t changed.

The door’s handle turns loudly and Tweek walks in with two mugs. This time one is covered in stars while the other is green with white dots. He hands me the green mug and points towards the liquid inside, “it’s hot chocolate.”

“Not coffee?”

“If you want to stay up all night be my guest, but I’m going to sleep,” Tweek answers tiredly and slumps down on the bed. I move to rest my back against the headboard and take a sip of the drink. We drink in comfortable silence until Tweek puts a hand over my head, only to slide it over to his own.

“You’ve gotten so tall.”

“No, you’re just short.”

Tweek punches my arm lightly with a laugh, “at least you’re still as much of an asshole.”

“Would I still be Craig if I wasn’t an asshole?”

Tweek takes a moment to consider his answer, “no, probably not.”

Tweek scoots a bit closer and rests his head on my shoulder, his calm breathing and sudden warmth way more comfortable than I would ever admit out loud. He isn’t doing his usual twitches, come to think of it, he hasn’t been doing that a lot since coming back.

“You’re less skittish.”

“What?”

“You don’t twitch as much now as when you were little.”

Tweek starts twiddling his thumbs with a faint blush, “well I do! Just, not with you.”

He quickly raises his mug and pours the drink down his throat, only to start choking with an even redder blush. I stifle a laugh at his look of distress, “cause of death: choking on hot chocolate.”

“F-fuck you, man,” he says with an attempt at intimidation in between coughs, which fails instantly with his quiet giggling.

During his coughing fit, Tweek’s necklace came out from where it was tucked in beneath his shirt. It’s quite odd that he would willingly wear a necklace, or any type of jewelry for that matter. He’s never been a jewelry person.

“Your necklace,” I gesture towards his neck, “it’s pretty gay.”

Tweek snorts and gazes down to the item in question, “yeah, it is.”

“It’s half a heart,” my heartbeat increases and I feel some worry in the back of my mind, “who has the other half?”

Tweek freezes up and stares at me, eyes the size of saucers. His reaction really doesn’t ease the worry in my mind and I find myself grasping the hem of my sleeves. Or well, Tweek’s sleeves, since it’s his shirt.

“It’s a secret.” Tweek mutters with a frown.

Neither of us say anything after that and Tweek’s breaths goes steady within a few minutes, suggesting that he’s fallen asleep. I glance at his sleeping form, my eyes wandering towards his necklace one last time before closing. It’s not like I’m jealous, I don’t even like Tweek. Well, I don’t like Tweek _that_ much. Maybe he’s a little cute, maybe he’s a little funny, and maybe I like him a little bit more than I first thought. But it’s nothing more than a little.

And yet, despite that, maybe I don’t want the heart’s other half to belong to someone else. Someone he met during the 8 years he was away. Someone important to him. Someone more important than me.

Only maybe, though.


	11. Cereal

The sun’s bright light seeps in through the curtain, accompanied by birds chirping outside. I open my eyes with a yawn and look at the clock. It’s definitely too early in the morning, even for a school day.

I lay back down and close my eyes. The bed is filled with a cozy warmth and I find myself reveling in it, a few more minutes won’t kill anyone. Just as the thought crosses my mind I feel the weight next to me shift and a hand is promptly slammed in my face.

“Ow! Dude, what the fuck?”

Tweek shoots up from the bed with a shriek, “oh God- I’m sorry!”

He instinctively reaches to pull at his hair, but slowly stops after looking at my face, “you uh-pfft-got something,” he puts a hand on his mouth to stifle a laugh and points towards my face, “right there.”

I bring a hand to my face and flinch, did he actually break my nose? That’s a great way to start the day.

Tweek suddenly keels over in a burst of laughter, “y-you’re all red!”

“Oh my god, you’re such a fucking asshole.”

My comment doesn’t deter Tweek in the slightest and he continues laughing like the sadistic asshole he is. I stand up from the bed and walk over Tweek’s body, towards the door. As soon as I reach the door it’s quickly slammed open, Richard Tweak and his horde of cats waiting eagerly on the other side.

“Oh, Craig! Just the man I wanted to see,” he gestures towards the bathroom behind him, “I’m washing your clothes along with Tweek’s, they’ll be done in a few hours.”

“We have school though, what am I supposed to wear?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Richard answers with a wink before leaving the room. If I thought the day’s beginning was good, it’s continuously getting better. And with better I mean worse, did I anger some kind of God?

My thoughts are interrupted by a light tap on my shoulder, “you can always borrow my clothes, unless you feel like learning in the nude.”

“Do I even have a choice?”

“Not really.”

Tweek opens his closet once again and throws some clothes my way, making sure not to hit my face this time. The sweater is a gravely grey with an obnoxiously bright frog plastered on the front. Does Tweek not own normal clothes, or am I just unlucky?

After getting dressed, the two of us head downstairs to kitchen. Tweek stops in his tracks and pull out a chair, gesturing for me to sit down, “you’re the guest, let me serve you.”

“You sure served me good this morning.”

Tweek drops the gentleman act with a blush and quickly rushes into the kitchen. The sound of cupboards opening is followed by the sound of multiple feet running down the stairs, or rather paws. I expect to see Richard running alongside the cats, but am greeted with only the furry fuzzballs.

“My dad usually feeds them, but he had to leave early this morning,” Tweek says as he tries to open the currently cat-blocked fridge.

A soft paw touches my leg and insistent meowing brings my attention to the creature on my right. It’s the same one Tricia gushes about at home, the calico cat named Marlene. She easily jumps up in my lap with a carefree whip of her tail and lays down. Her fur is sleek and she purrs like an engine, it’s somewhat reminiscent of a car. Maybe getting a red cat and naming it Red Racer wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“We have cereal and milk,” Tweek says as he hands me a bowl, “I swear the only other thing in this house is coffee.”

I grab the cereal with a snort and pour it in my bowl. It’s simple cornflakes, but luckily for Tweek I happen to _adore_ simple.

“Wait- you pour the cereal in first?” Tweek asks with a hand on the carton of milk.

“Don’t you?”

“No! If you put in the cereal first you won’t know how much to use! What if you take too much cereal and have even it out with milk but flood the kitchen!?”

“What.”

Tweek puts the milk back down on the table and puts his face in his hands with a deep breath. He goes completely quiet and I find myself wondering if he stopped breathing.

“Dude, it’s just cereal, it’s not that deep,” I say reassuringly and reach to give his head a pat. Getting worked up over cereal really is something only Tweek would do.

With newfound determination, Tweek lifts his head with a smile and reaches for the cereal. Pouring a ridiculously large amount into the bowl, really, how does he stay so thin? Tweek grabs a spoon and shovels at least one pound of cereal into his mouth. I watch in awe as he repeats the action, just as surprised with every mouthful he manages to cram in.

Noticing my stare, Tweek smiles brightly and puts down the spoon for a second, “you know, I cereal-sly love you!”

“That’s probably the worst one yet, are you running out of puns?”

Tweek crosses his arms with a scowl, “I spent years mastering the art of puns and you _dare_ tell me they suck?” He places one hand on his heart, “I am deeply offended.”

Grabbing the milk with a snort, I look down at the cat sleeping in my lap, “I’ve been meaning to ask, but why does your dad own like a thousand cats?”

Tweek glances up from his bowl, swallowing the cereal stuffed in his mouth, “not too sure, he’s kinda weird.”

“Weird?” I ask with furrowed brows. Sure, everyone knew Richard Tweek was weird. Most people in South Park would be considered weird, but Richard manages to reach far and beyond that. Or well, used to reach far and beyond that. He used to put meth in the coffee he sold for _years_ before it was found out, but after that incident he has been rather tame. Nowadays he’s mostly just a weird guy, the way he speaks and acts being quite unusual. But I didn’t think any of the Tweaks actually noticed this, since they’re all weird in their own special way. It’s like they’re in this little bubble of weirdness, while the rest of the town observes in confusion from outside.

“Yeah! Like, I think he told me why but he uses so many metaphors! It’s a miracle I can understand when it’s dinner,” Tweek answers with a frustrated shake of his head.

I grab a spoonful of cereal with a laugh, “at least he doesn’t threaten to sell you into slavery.”

“Maybe he does, I wouldn’t know!”

The rest of the breakfast goes by in a comfortable silence, with a few quick quips here and there. Once it’s finally time to leave I glance down at the clothes I’m currently wearing. They’re not awful, just not something anyone would ever expect me to wear. But I could as well own it, right? It’s not like my friends have my entire wardrobe memorized, right?

* * *

 

Wrong.

As it turns out, my friends do have my entire wardrobe memorized. The moment I place a foot inside the cafeteria Clyde grabs my arm and drags me across the room towards our table.

“Dude, spill it!”

“What?”

“You and Tweek sure got f-f-f-frisky last night.”

I shoot Jimmy a glare and shake my arm free from Clyde’s grasp, “no, fuck both of you.”

Clyde pokes the frog print on my sweater suspiciously, “then whose sweater is this?”

“Mine, now stop touching me,” I answer and wave his arm off.

“N-n-no way man, you don’t own a single frog s-s-s-shirt.”

Knowing that arguing is futile, I choose to ignore them for the rest of the lunch. Until Clyde points at my face and laughs, that is. Noticing my confused expression, Token brings out his phone and shoves it in my face. The reflection is quite dark, but the bright red, hand-shaped mark on my face is still visible clear as day.

Realizing what it is they’re getting at, I feel my face flush and quickly pull my hat down by its strings to cover the mark, “Tweek slapped me this morning, it’s nothing.”

“Didn’t know you were into that,” Token chimes in with a smirk.

“Oh fuck off.”

Without really caring for the world around me, I eat my lunch in bitter silence, hopefully scaring off anyone interested enough to ask about my current mood. Time passes fast though, and soon enough I’m awkwardly sandwiched in between Clyde and Tweek. These benches really aren’t made for three people.

“So Tweek, we heard you spent the night with Craig,” Clyde leans across the table with a wiggle of his eyebrows, “how was it?”

Tweek drops the fork he’s holding and goes ghostly pale, “t-that’s not what-ngh-happened! Who told you that!?”

Clyde simply shrugs and Tweek quickly whips his head around to face me with a scowl. Does he seriously think I would feed these mofos lies about the non-existent acts of intimacy we indulge in behind closed doors? As if.

I turn my head around to look at the side not containing a glaring Tweek, but the view isn’t much better there. Clyde is currently leaning forward with a mischievous smile, chin in his hands.

“Aww, just look at these lovebirds!”

“I swear to fucking God Clyde I will flay you alive and use your skin as a doormat to rub my dirty shoes on if you open that filthy mouth one more time.”

Clyde quickly shuts up while Jimmy snickers from across the table, a knowing smile on his face. If I ever considered them unbearable before, they’re downright insufferable now. Maybe Tweek moving back to South Park wasn’t such a good thing after all.

* * *

 

Classes end quite late due to some asshole that kept the class delayed by talking loudly during the lecture. I make my way home with a slight jog, usually physical activity is not at all my thing, but when you live like two feet from school it’s a bearable pain.

Just as I spot my house across the street, my eyes land on Tricia unlocking the door. She notices me and walks inside with a quick wave of acknowledgement. Once I get inside she’s sitting on the stairs, untying her shoelaces.

“Why were you out so late?” I ask and take off my jacket.

“Who are you, mom?” Tricia asks with grin, “I was at Karen’s.”

“Figures.”

The two of us walk into the kitchen and take our seats at the table. Mom and dad are already seated when we arrive, and dad wastes no time opening his mouth as soon as he lays his eyes upon us.

“I see you’ve been spending time with Tweek.”

“Why is this the one thing literally everyone feels the need to mention?” I ask with an exasperated sigh.

“Well, hands don’t just randomly form on your face,” Tricia remarks with an accusing point towards my face.

“What do you know, this might as well be a part of puberty.”

Tricia sticks her tongue out and I respond by flipping her off. The rest of the dinner is then spent listening to Tricia talk about her day, as usual. She apparently got an A on an assignment about a book she didn’t read, I couldn’t be more proud. She also played princesses with Karen for a few hours, which maybe they should have grown out of, but then again I don’t really care.

Once done loading the dishwasher I grab an orange and head upstairs, an immediate relief after having longed for the solitude of my room all day. The bed has never looked more comfortable in my life, and Stripe’s happy chirping is welcome addition. I pick him up from the cage and let him run around on the floor for a bit. He scuttles happily into my lap as I peel the orange, chirping happily when I hand him a slice.

We eat the orange together as I turn on some Red Racer. It’s almost funny how everything has changed except for this one tradition. my eyes are mindlessly drawn to the shelf containing various knick-knacks. I look through the shelf until my eyes land upon what I’m looking for. The old album hasn’t moved an inch since I last saw it, it’s merely collecting dust in the corner. Maybe it would be fun to look inside the album once more, it has been 8 years after all. Maybe I’ll show it to Tweek later, the album was his idea after all.

I bring my attention back to Stripe and scratch his ear. Maybe I’ll open the album some time, maybe I’ll even show it to Tweek.

That however, is a task for another day.


	12. Skittles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost 2 months but I'm finally done with this chapter!  
> I've been looking forward to writing this chapter since day 1, but this past month has been quite hectic so I couldn't find the time.  
> We're nearing the end though, so I should be able to finish this story soon!

“Your clothes are dry so I’ll drop them off at your house!” He said.

“I’ll stop by your house later then!” He said.

What he _didn’t_ say was, “I’m gonna drop off your clothes and then spend three hours baking with your mother and sister, hope you don’t mind!”

Tweek approached me earlier that day, saying that he’d stop by my house as soon as he ends to drop off my clothes from Sunday. My absolutely moronic just woken-up mind saw no issues with this and agreed without much thought, which was my first step towards the disaster currently occurring inside my house.

My mom, Tricia and of course Tweek are all fitted inside the small kitchen, baking god-knows-what. There’s flour everywhere and I’m pretty sure that’s egg dripping from the ceiling. Although, it does smell better than I would ever admit out loud.

“What pastry requires this much damage to thrive?” I ask and take a seat at the table.

“Shut up fuck face, it’s not like you’re the master chef here,” Tricia yells back while flipping me off. I return the gesture wholeheartedly. I may not be the master chef, but at least I know how to crack one egg.

Tweek doesn’t seem to have noticed my arrival, as he’s currently absorbed in the act of whisking. His eyebrows are furrowed and his back straight, eyes fixated on the bowl. It’s kind of cute in a way, how much effort he can waste on tedious task.

My view is suddenly blocked by Tricia waving her hand in front of my face, a smug smile plastered on her face. I slap the hand away and roll my eyes, there’s nothing odd about staring at someone that’s intruding in your house.

Grabbing my bag I head upstairs, might as well get something productive done. I grab a book from my bag and slump down on the bed with a thud, geography has never been one of my strong suits.

After finishing a few sentences I let the book rest on my face, one page is a sufficient amount of studying for today. I shut my eyes and listen to Stripe scuttle around in his cage with the occasional squeak. Stripe isn’t the only sound I hear though, the door being opened carefully and light tapping of feet along the floor don’t go unnoticed. I lift the book slightly and let my eyes wander to the back of my room. Tweek is sitting on his knees in front of Stripe’s cage, imitating the small squeaks with a giggle.

Lifting the book from my face, I sit back up and cross my legs. Tweek doesn’t pay my presence any mind and simply continues to adoringly stare at Stripe.

“Yes Tweek, you may pet Stripe.”

Tweek whips his head around with a yelp, but relaxes once he notices the smirk on my face, “erk-sorry, I thought you were sleeping.”

Jumping off the bed, I join Tweek by the cage and lift Stripe up. Stripe squeaks happily as I put him down on the floor, running around like his life depended on it. Tweek watches in awe as he runs around in circles then bolts straight into my leg.

We watch him run around in blissful silence, only Stripe’s tiny squeaks and the quick tapping of his feet filling the room with noise. After a few minutes of this activity I sneak a glance at Tweek, whose attention has been caught by something else. Following his eyes, they land on the album tucked neatly on my shelf.

“You still have that?” He asks, cocking his head towards the book.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” It was a stupid question, really. It would be easy for anyone to assume that I had gotten rid of that album years ago, especially since I haven’t opened it even once.

Tweek twiddles his thumbs with a nervous laugh, “I just-ngh-assumed you got-uh-rid of it?”

I raise a brow and shoot him a curious look, “what?”

“N-nothing! I-hnn-have to go!” Tweek yells and bolts out of the room in a split second.

“What the hell,” is all I say before laying down on the floor, Stripe in tow. Maybe another nap wouldn’t be so bad.

* * *

 

The next morning at school Tweek does his utmost best to avoid me at all costs. I manage to catch him once by the lockers, but my question about his next class gets blatantly ignored before he rushes off.

Slightly pissed off- no, scratch that, _majorly_ pissed off, I slam my lunch tray down on the table unnecessarily loud and pop a carrot in my mouth with seething anger. Tweek has literally no reason to ignore me, if anything _I_ should be the one ignoring _him_ for everything he has done. I chew the carrot bitterly and look at the other occupants of the table. Token, Jimmy and Clyde all wear obvious concern plastered on their faces as they stare at me.

“What?” I snap at them, taking another carrot.

They all share a glance before Token speaks up, “you uh- seem tense.”

“Well I’m not, piss off.”

Token shrugs and they all go back to eating in silence. I grab another carrot. The doors suddenly open and Tweek passes our table without as much as a glance. Clyde tries to wave him over but to no avail, he simply passes by without a care in the world. I snap the carrot in half.

“Dude, did something happen between you two?” Clyde asks like it’s any of his business, which it is not.

“None of your business.”

Clyde huffs, “it is my business! You’re both my friends and I want to know what’s up.”

“I don’t know, alright?” I chew one piece of the carrot, “Tweek’s just being an asshole.”

After finally getting my lack of enthusiasm on this subject into their thick skulls, they drop the topic and continue their earlier discussion about god-knows-what.

Glancing to the side, I see Tweek sitting alone at a table. It looks almost sad, only almost. I don’t care whether Tweek looks sad or not, he can go fuck himself.

Popping the last carrot into my mouth, I declare lunch done and leave the cafeteria with my untouched sandwich.

* * *

 

The rest of the week continues in the same pattern, Tweek avoids me and opts to sit by himself at lunch rather than our usual table. By the looks of it he hasn’t spoken to Token, Jimmy or Clyde either, which is just fan-fucking-tastic. No one knows what his deal is and he won’t speak to anyone. If I didn’t actually see him in the corridors at school, I would assume he fled the country.

Bringing a box of candy to the counter, I take a look at the mess someone has made of the displays. Turns out that even if Craig prefers some structure and order to his life, many seem to prefer to simply watch the world burn. The janitor really has no business being a janitor, even more so if you know the guy. I put everything back in order on the displays and grab a bucket from the storage room. Might as well mop the floor while I’m at it, not like anyone else ever will.

I have always found cleaning to be quite therapeutic. I’m not saying I enjoy cleaning, at all, but it brings a certain sense of calm. Mopping the shop’s section of the floor doesn’t take long and I soon find myself mopping the rest of the cinema, it won’t open in another hour anyway.

The floors of this place have never been this clean before and most certainly never will be again, because I won’t resort to cleaning this place unless I get a raise. Putting the bucket and mop back in the storage room, I resume my position behind the counter and grab one of the magazines. It’s not like anyone will be hanging on the handles once the cinema opens.

Turns out I was wrong, as someone _does_ hang on the handles and goes tumbling in when the doors are unlocked. That messy, blonde hair is easily recognizable and I put my face in my hands with a groan. Tweek is probably the last person on earth I’d be willing to see right now.

Tweek quickly pushes himself off the ground like he didn’t just fall flat on his ass and makes his way towards one of the candy displays, not even sparing me a glance. I turn my attention back to the magazine, finding the detailed descriptions of tanks way more interesting than the blonde currently browsing through the different skittles.

The loud smack of something hitting the counter brings my attention back to the front, where Tweek is now standing with a bag of skittles.

I ring his item up in silence, sneaking a glance when he’s looking away. He’s twiddling his twitchy fingers, eyes darting across the room. He drops a few coins when handing them over, only to profoundly apologize and pick them back up. I let him take his time to collect the coins and hand them over again, without fail this time.

Tweek hastily grabs the bag of candy and rips it open, grabbing a fistful of skittles and shoving it into his mouth.

“I-I-” he takes a deep breath, or a breath as deep as you can with a mouth full of candy, “I have skittles in my mouth, wanna taste the rainbow?”

Before I can answer Tweek grabs the straps of my chullo and harshly pulls me down, pressing his lips against mine. This is not at all how I imagined today would go.

Tweek’s lips are soft but a bit chapped and they taste like coffee. Never having experienced a kiss before, I can’t say whether this one is good or bad, but it isn’t unpleasant. Quite the contrary. The feeling of Tweek’s lips moving against mine sends a light tingle through my body and I find myself leaning in. Opening an eye, I look at Tweek’s face. His eyes are closed and his cheeks puffed out like a hamster, probably due to the skittles. I hold back a laugh that’s immediately replaced with something else as hard teeth grasp my bottom lip.

I abruptly shove him away and back off from the counter, catching my breath. Neither of us say anything, but the absolutely devastated look on Tweek’s face say more than words ever could.

“Tweek, I-” is all I get to say before he bolts through the doors, bag of skittles left in a mess on the floor.


	13. Marshmallow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an early update!  
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter, the story is finally coming together.

Tweek doesn’t show up at the cinema the next day. Not that I was expecting him to, yesterday’s events made things very awkward.

I bring a finger to my lips, the soft feeling of Tweek’s chapped lips still lingering with a faint taste of coffee. I don’t like Tweek, _didn't_ like Tweek, but I can’t deny the fuzzy feeling in my stomach that accompanies the memories of yesterday.

Stripe squeaks happily and runs into my leg, nabbing the orange slice in my hand. Grabbing another slice, I lean back on the floor. When we were kids, Tweek and I put sticker stars on my ceiling. It wasn’t those fancy glow-in-the-dark ones, just normal stickers shaped like stars. The entire ceiling was littered with them and it looked absolutely ridiculous. Those 50 sheets we bought took quite a toll on our allowances.

The ceiling above me now contains no stars.

Looking around the room, there is nothing in here connected to Tweek. All our memories were left behind in my old house. The drawings we drew on the walls then got scolded for, the curtains we sewed space patterns on, the window we drew with gel pens on. None of that is here, just distant memories left behind in my old house.

I rise up and walk downstairs to the kitchen, the mess from Tweek’s baking adventure has been cleaned up but there are still a few cupcakes left on the tray. I grab one of the cupcakes and slump down on the couch, reaching aimlessly for the apparently non-existent remote. That’s fine, it’s not like Honey Boo Boo is the literal worst show in TV history or anything.

A mere five minutes of this godforsaken show is enough to test my sanity, but luckily for me that’s when the remote magically appears, dangling in front of my face. Looking up, I send Tricia a blank stare.

“I take it you want this?” Tricia says and drops the remote on my face.

“Ow- fuck, thanks.”

Tricia sits down in the empty seat next to me as I change channels, tossing her phone haphazardly onto the table.

“It’ll break if you keep doing that,” I say and nod towards the phone. Tricia answers with a shrug and takes a bite out of my cupcake.

Terrance and Phillip, while not on the same level as Red Racer, used to be one of my most watched shows as a kid. Not because _I_ was especially fond of the show, but because everyone else was. Many sleepovers took part in the mandatory Terrance and Phillip binge.

While ten year old me barely had anything remotely resembling taste, current me can confidently say that the show sucks. Tricia seems to agree judging by the scorn adorning her face, “I never understood why you guys loved this show so much.”

“Me neither,” I answer with a shrug.

Tricia hands me the last cupcake sliver with a mischievous smile, “Tweek made these you know.”

“I’m aware,” I answer and stuff the cupcake crumbs in my mouth. Vanilla, of course. Tweek made a lot of cupcakes in different flavors when we were kids, but vanilla was always his favorite. He preferred the more simple and sweet tastes rather than rich chocolate or bitter lemon.

“So, when are you gonna propose?”

I choke on the crumbs with a cough, “excuse me?”

Tricia rolls her eyes, “you’d need to blind not to notice how goddamn whipped you are.”

“What- I _don’t_ like Tweek.”

Grabbing her phone from the table, Tricia stretches her arms before heading towards the stairs. Snapping her head around she gives me a cocky smile.

“I never said anything about Tweek.”

* * *

 

School shows no mercy for personal issues, which is why I’m still here despite my inner turmoil. Mister kiss and run still hasn’t shown himself, not willingly at least. He skipped the class we share on Mondays and never even entered the cafeteria. I know he’s not dead though, hiding behind a thin pillar with a huge backpack isn’t as inconspicuous as he seems to believe. Our lockers didn’t switch places just because he’s being a stubborn asshole, and it appears that you can’t run away from the need to study.

Fingers prodding at the orange in my hand, I open the cafeteria doors with a sigh. I immediately spot Jimmy and Clyde chatting at our table, Token quickly joining them. Turning my head to the side and looking around, Tweek is nowhere to be seen. As expected.

Pressing my thumb into the orange, I slump down at the table. I garner curious glances from all three of the occupants, Clyde quickly speaking up, “where’s Tweek? He hasn’t had lunch with us in forever!”

“Do I look like I know where that asshole is?” I answer and peel the orange vigorously.

“Maybe n-n-n-not, but you’re leaving us in the dark here,” Jimmy says, Token and Clyde nodding in agreement.

“Because it’s none of your business?”

Clyde slaps both hands onto my shoulders and looks me sternly in the eye, “we’re worried, you know? You never confide in us about personal things, a-and you never talk about your feelings!” The hands on my shoulders start quivering slightly and droplets fall down Clyde’s cheeks, “why won’t you talk to us? We’re your friends!”

Crying Clyde always washes an uncomfortable feeling over me. I swat his hands off my shoulders and give his head a light pat, “thanks.”

Noticing Jimmy and Token’s now expectant stares, I pop an orange slice in my mouth and tell them about what happened at the cinema.

“I don’t see why this is an issue?” Token says with a frown, “you like him so why-”

“I do _not_ like Tweek,” I quickly cut him off.

“Right,” Token rolls his eyes with a sigh, “then take your oh-so-platonic feelings and apologize to him.”

“Why should _I_ apologize? He’s the one who kissed me and then ran away.”

“Because you’re both p-p-p-p-pussies. If you d-d-d-don’t take action, who will?”

Grabbing my bag and stuffing the last orange slices into my mouth, I walk towards the door, “I’m going on a walk.”

* * *

 

There isn’t a lot of empty space to eat your lunch in silence at this school. Despite being completely alone in the corridor, the faint sound of a piano playing can be heard. With nothing better to do I decide follow the sound. If this is a horror movie I’ll be fucked.

Turns out it’s not a horror movie and I arrive outside the music room’s open window. Carefully looking inside, I recognize the sunny blonde mess of hair sitting by the piano, clinking away on the keys. Out of all the places I expected Tweek to spend his lunch break, this was not one of them.

I lean my back against the wall and sit down, letting the music whisk me away. It’s a melody I feel like I’ve heard before, despite having no memory of ever listening to it. I let my eyes fall shut. Tweek was always good at playing the piano, seems like that hasn’t changed.

I’m jolted awake by the harsh shaking of my arm and a loud laugh, “wake up, sleeping beauty.”

I swat his hand away, “piss off Kenny.”

Kenny takes that as an invitation and joyfully sits down next to me, cracking his joints with a pop. The music doesn’t play anymore, leaving us alone with the sound of the whistling wind and cars driving past.

“So, what brings you out here this fine afternoon?” Kenny asks with a toothy grin.

I shrug, “escaping some assholes.”

“Ah, we’re in the same boat then!” Kenny says with a light pat on my shoulder, “Cartman is starting something again, but I’m frankly not in the mood to be arrested.”

“As if you’ve ever been arrested by following him,” I scoff. Despite literally setting the town on fire multiple times, or killing people, South Park police have never as much as batted an eye at the group.

“Touché.”

The wind whizzes by as we sit beneath the window in silence. It would be almost pleasant if it wasn’t for Kenny’s annoying tapping against the pavement.

“Did you come here just to annoy me?”

“Maybe,” Kenny answers with a snicker, “or I simply enjoy your company, crazy I know.”

“The feeling is not mutual,” I say and flip him off, evoking a laugh from the idiot.

“You act stone cold, but inside I bet you’re like a marshmallow.”

I quirk an eyebrow, “marshmallow?”

“Yeah! Soft, squishy, sweet,” he scratches his chin, “sticky?”

I snort, quickly putting a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter, “yeah, no.”

Kenny looks satisfied enough by my reaction and stands up, dusting off his pants, “I’ll leave you alone to brood in peace for now.”

Shuffling towards the door, Kenny turns around before grabbing the handle, “one friend to another-”

“We’re not friends.”

“My sincerest apologies, one guy with garbage friends to another,” he cocks his head to the side with a grin, “I prefer marshmallow Craig.”

I flip him off and lean back against the wall. Large clouds litter the sky, making it mostly white. Clouds have always reminded me of marshmallows, the fluffy exterior seeming good enough to eat. Marshmallows have a simple and sweet taste. I wonder if Tweek likes marshmallows.

Kenny’s words come back to mind and I put a finger on my lip, “marshmallow, huh?”

* * *

 

Stripe eats eagerly out of the tiny bowl filled with fruits on the floor, squeaking happily as brush a finger over his head. Guinea pigs are simple, all they do is eat, sleep and run. Life would be a lot easier if people were as simple as guinea pigs. That’s sadly not the case.

I grab an apple piece from my own bowl and pop it in my mouth. Tweek and I used to share fruit salads with Stripe like this when we were kids. Although Tweek wasn’t fond of apples, so we usually left them out.

I lean back on the floor with a huff. My mind has been occupied by Tweek all day, despite him not actually taking part in it. Quite selfish of him, really.

My eyes fall on the album I’ve found myself looking at often these days. It’s not like it would hurt anyone to open it, right?

Walking towards the shelf, I carefully pick up the book with a look at its cover. It still looks the same as when I last opened it, save for the layer of dust. I lay down on the bed and open the first page, which contains pictures of me and Tweek with the album.

“ _Album for memories so we won’t forget_ ,” cringy, but in our defense we were ten.

The next few pages contain an assortment of different photos. One from when we went camping and Tweek put a snail on my head, which was extremely gross. Another was from when we stayed at Token’s place to study for a test. We were all determined to study hard, until some genius turned on the TV. We ended up watching TV the whole night instead of studying, which was apparent in our grades. The picture shows Tweek and Jimmy laughing at Clyde, who stuck two pencils in his nostrils. This doesn’t seem that old considering Clyde would do it now if dared to.

The next page is littered with pictures of cupcakes in different colors. Tweek was determined to put a picture of every cupcake batch he made in the album, saying that each was special. In the corner is a picture of me and Tweek, covered in flour and batter. Baking with Tweek was always fun, even if it got pretty messy sometimes.

Flipping through some pages, my eyes land on a picture from the performance we held. This one wasn’t taken by either of us, probably a parent. It’s me and Tweek standing on the stage once the song was over, hands intertwined. Tweek played the piano really well back then, still does. I wonder if he still remembers how to play that song.

Nearing the end of the album, there are a few pictures of the sticker stars we put on my ceiling. Putting up all the stars took a whole day. Once we were done we laid down on the floor and looked up, enjoying the fabricated night sky. One particular picture shows Tweek smiling with multiple stars on his face. It’s kind of cute. The photo next to it contains me with one star on my nose, trying to focus on putting the stars on the ceiling while Tweek is busy putting them on everything else.

I bring the album above my head, eyes drifting to my ceiling. This one lacks stars.

Flipping absentmindedly through the album, I reach the last pages. They’re all blank. I flip through a few but nothing stands out. Nothing stands out until something falls on my face. Upon closer inspection, it’s a paper. I put the album down and carefully grab the paper. The front has a tiny star sticker.

Turning the paper around, shaky writing spells out “ _To Craig._ ”

This isn’t just a paper, it’s a letter.


	14. Chocolate Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fast update!  
> I plan to finish this story in the next few weeks so the wait won't be long, it'll all soon be done.

“Craig, what do you want for your birthday?” The question leaves his lips innocently as he grabs my hand tight.

“I don’t know, I’d be happy getting anything from you.”

Tweek burst out laughing with a snort, clutching his stomach, “oh my god that’s so mushy.”

“Shut up,” I say and punch his arm lightly, evoking another giggle from the blonde.

The wind is still as we walk down the road, cars audible in the distance. Traffic is usually light at this time of the day, letting us enjoy the silence as we walk home.

“Hey, Craig,” Tweek’s grasp tightens around my hand, “do you ever think about the future?”

“The future?”

“Yeah! Like what your life will be like in 20 years.”

I take a moment to think. Of course the future has crossed my mind, but it’s not something I find myself thinking of daily. I’d rather live in the present than a fabricated version of what might happen in a few years.

“I’ll be an astronaut,” I say with confidence. Traveling to space has always been my dream, and if future Craig gives up on that I’ll kick his ass. “And I’ll live in a small house.”

Tweek tilts his head with knitted eyebrows, “why not a large house?”

“Because the two of us won’t need that much space,” I take a moment to think, “unless we adopt like 100 guinea pigs, which I wouldn’t mind.”

“You think we’ll still be together in 20 years?” Tweek says with a tiny smile.

“Well, yeah! It’s not like we can break up when it’ll just get the whole town depressed again.”

Tweek’s smile falters and his gaze falls to the ground. He mutters something under his breath that I can’t quite make out and quickens his pace. We arrive at his house shortly after and he hurriedly runs inside before I can ask what he said. Thinking nothing of it, I resume the walk back to my house, not looking back as I trek forward.

* * *

 

The sticker looks just like one of the stars on my old ceiling, probably from a leftover sheet. I carefully remove it and unfold the paper, revealing the letter inside. The handwriting is messy and somewhat shaky, ten year old Tweek’s trademarked style. I haven’t seen his writing since he came back, is it still as messy or did he grow out of it?

The letter isn’t very long, just a few barely readable sentences.

“Hello Craig! By the time you’re reading this I will be far away from South Park,” straight to the point, as usual. Next to the text is a tiny drawing of what I would assume to be a sad Tweek with a backpack.

“I know we broke up, but I really like you!” That’s one weird way to show it, “I never wanted you to date me because of the town, but out of your own will!”

There’s a drawing beneath the sentence, picturing me and a tiny heart.

“If you like me back, please respond to this letter! Or if you just want to be friends!” I read the sentence one more time to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Tweek _liked_ me? Tweek _still_ likes me? It’s not as if the thought hasn’t crossed my mind before, but actually saying it out loud puts a new weight on the words.

There isn’t much left of the letter, only a few sentences, “I’ll send you a letter as fast as I can! Pen pals are still cool, right?” I find myself smiling at that. Pen pals have never been cool.

At the bottom of the letter there is some tiny writing, “PS: look inside the envelope!”

I raise a brow and pick the envelope back up, shaking it slightly. There is still something inside. Turning the envelope upside-down, its contents lands on my bed with a thud.

Picking up the photo that fell out, I read the messy writing on the back, “To remember me when I’m gone!”

The photo is a portrait of Tweek, a huge grin plastered on his face. It wasn’t often that Tweek smiled this brightly, that was a privilege for when we were alone together. The thought makes my heart race, but I can’t say that I mind.

Photo Tweek is pointing at something around his neck, holding it up with his other hand. Looking closer, it’s a necklace. The silver chain appears too big around his tiny neck, probably not made for kids. At the bottom of the chain is a charm that’s easily recognizable. It’s the same heart-shaped charm he’s still wearing now, eight years later.

My eyes wander to the second object that fell out and I snatch it from the sheets. I let the silver chain dangle from my hand and follow its shiny surface to the bottom. At the end is a heart-shaped charm, much like Tweek’s own. The shiny exterior is embroidered with thin, curvy lines, barely noticeable from a distance.

Of course Tweek would buy matching necklaces, it’s dumb and cute just like him. I put the chain around my neck and read through the letter again. So he gave me one letter, but that still doesn’t explain why he cut all contact. He even wrote that he’d send more, what happened to that, huh?

Leaning back against the bed, I look up at the ceiling with tired eyes. The blank boards are quite bland compared to one with millions of stars littered across every corner, reminiscent of a night sky. I prefer my old ceiling. My old ceiling that we spent so much effort to complete. My old ceiling that contains so many of my memories. My old ceiling that is in my old house from which I moved seven years ago.

In a moment of realization, I jump to my feet and bolt out the door. Of course I wouldn’t have gotten the letters, Tweek had no idea I moved.

Running down the streets I used to walk with Tweek brings back pleasant memories, but I’m in too much of a hurry to reminiscence right now. Nostalgia has waited eight years, it can wait a bit more.

The old house still looks about the same. The walls are still a gross brown with an even worse door. Flowers are blooming in pots on the porch, giving the place a homely feeling despite me not having been here in seven years.

I push my finger into the doorbell and let the familiar jingle ring through my ears. The door creaks open and a tiny, old lady steps out.

“May I help you?” She asks with a warm smile.

“I- uh-” Not having prepared myself for this encounter, I stumble on my words with a stiff laugh. “Have you got any letters for Craig Tucker?”

The lady’s face lights up and she clasps her hands together with a jolly hum, “oh! I’ve been waiting for you!” She ushers me inside with hasty hands, “the letters were so charming, it would have been a waste to throw them out.”

Walking through the house, I notice how different it is from when I lived here. The walls are decorated with photos, probably of her grandchildren and other relatives. The floor is covered in a rustic looking carpet and the windows are draped with floral curtains, not at all like when I lived here.

We arrive at one of the doors upstairs and the lady opens the door with a loud creak. They should really oil these things. She gestures for me to follow her inside and shuffles through the various knick-knacks inside the closet. Looking up at the ceiling, I’m surprised to see that the stars are still there. They don’t contain the same magic as I remember, but it does bring a certain charm to the room. The light’s reflection in the stars produce a captivating glimmer and I find myself staring.

“The stars are a little unusual, but I’ve always found them cute,” The lady says with a smile.

I nod awkwardly and shift my eyes to opposite direction. Other than the ceiling there’s nothing left resembling my old room. Probably because we brought all furniture with us when we moved.

“Here you go! They’re a little dusty, but that’s nothing a simple wipe won’t solve.”

A small box is forced hastily into my hands. It’s not very heavy but my arms still grab it with a slight shake, “thanks.”

The lady pats my shoulders with a reassuring smile and winks, “it has been nice to meet you, but I’m sure you’re eager to get home now.” I feel my cheeks heating up at the implication, quickly wishing her goodbye before rushing home.

Once inside the safety of my own room, I place the box on my bed and sit down. These are letters Tweek has sent to me. Letters I had no idea even _existed_ before today. I carefully pick up the one that was sent seven years ago.

“I know you’ll laugh at me for this, but I forgot my phone in South Park!” For eight years I’ve been shaming him for knowingly leaving his phone here, but with context this claim doesn’t seem so unrealistic.

This letter is longer than the last, containing multiple apologies varying from forgetting his phone to forgetting to give me his new address. I laugh at the tiny drawing of a crying Tweek next to all the apologies.

“You might wonder why I sent this letter so late, it’s pretty stupid. I’ve been busy settling down here, moving is so stressful! But I’ve also been really nervous about your answer, so I postponed sending this.” I take another look at the date, it’s my birthday seven years ago. Even if I had read the first letter after he moved, the one year wait would definitely have been a huge turn off. Tweek really isn’t good with relationships.

At the bottom the letter there’s a photo of Tweek, probably taken by his mom. In the photo, Tweek is smiling happily while playing piano. He mentions that playing it calms him down and he’s learning some new songs, “I put notes for the song I’m learning in the envelope!”

The envelope does contain a note sheet, not that I can read notes. I carefully put it all to the side and move on to the rest of the letters. He seems to have followed a schedule, seeing as all letters were sent on my birthday. The contents vary from letter to letter, although there’s a note sheet in each one. One letter describes how he failed a test horribly, with a photo of him sleeping among school supplies. Another how he won the school’s music competition, with a photo of him holding a trophy and flowers.

One of the recent letters contains a photo of him holding a box of chocolate hearts with an awkward smile. He describes in anguish how he was asked out by a girl on valentines day, but turned her down. I know he wrote this while feeling bad for the girl, but I can’t help the smug smile adorning my face. If I gave him chocolates, would he accept?

The last letter was sent last year, containing information about him possibly moving back to South Park this year. He wants to meet me again, even if I haven’t answered any of his letters. Even if I don’t feel the same way as him. Even if I _hate_ him. There’s a photo of Tweek in this one too. He’s holding his necklace, mirroring the photo from the first letter, except it fits this time. He has the same determined gleam in his eyes I’ve seen many times before.

I put the letter down and lean back on the bed, closing my eyes. My feelings towards Tweek have been fueled by anger all these years. I thought he forced me out of his life and forgot about me. If I was a ball he took a bat and hit a home run, never turning back.

All these years I’ve been wrong. He tried to reach me, tried to not forget. The one who pushed our memories away. The one who tried his very best to forget. That wasn’t him, has never been him. It was me.


	15. Hershey's Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one chapter left now, I hope you'll see it through to the end!  
> In the meantime, please enjoy this chapter!

The ear shattering ringing of my alarm is turned off the second it goes off. Having already been awake for an hour, deeply thinking through how to face Tweek, I grab my bag and run run down the stairs. Tricia bends her head to look at me from the couch, mouth stuffed with bread. “Whaf awe you doinf?”

“Going to school, what does it look like?”

She swallows the bread with a sip of milk, “you never leave early, are you sick?”

“Yes, I have a terminal disease that can only be cured by me arriving at school early.”

Tricia snorts and takes another bite of the bread, “so you’re just lovesick?”

Feeling heat rise to my cheeks, I ignore her last statement and head outside. She’s right though, about it being too early for school. It’ll be a miracle if the school is even open by now, but at least knowing I can ambush Tweek when he shows up soothes my nerves.

The walk to school is short, even shorter when you get there with a slight jog. It’s not as if I’m excited to see Tweek, I’m just impatient. Having waited patiently for 8 years for an explanation, only to find out it was literally right next to me the whole time doesn’t help.

There are no lights turned on inside the school and no cars parked close by. It would be safe to assume that the doors will be locked, but trying has never hurt anyone.

I turn the handle slowly, stepping aside with furrowed brows when it opens. Well, no one has ever claimed the adults in this town to be smart.

Darkness covers the halls, slight light from the windows illuminating the walls. The eerie silence makes the place seem almost haunted, which I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. I tiptoe down the halls, trying to stop my shoes from creaking. Where I’m going or why the hell I’m even in here I do not know, but if there’s a serial killer here I’d rather my shoes not give me away.

A quiet melody fills the halls the more I walk, which is definitely some horror movie shit. Despite all common sense I take a breath and follow the tunes. It’s a melody I recognize and find myself humming along to.

Before long the song has led me to the music room. Makes sense since it’s the only room with a piano. I carefully press my ear against the closed door and listen, except the door wasn’t closed and my attempt at going unnoticed ends with me promptly falling on the floor.

A chair screeches against the floor as it’s hastily moved its spot, followed by light steps running towards me. “Oh my god, are you alright!?”

I steady my hands on the floor and push myself up with a grunt, “fuck that hurt.”

Tweek brings his jittery hands to his hair and pulls it harshly with a quiet whimper. The light illuminates him like a deer in headlights as his gaze frantically jumps everywhere but on me. I push myself off the ground and gently grab Tweek’s wrists, removing them from his hair. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“That’s good- good,” he takes a deep breath, “sorry for freaking out.”

The hands I’m grasping stop shaking and his breathing calms down, no more jittery spasms. I don’t let go of his hands though, instead tightening my grip. 

“It’s fine, I’m the one who should apologize. That’s why I’m here, actually.”

Tweek raises a brow curiously and bites his lip. I quickly tear my eyes away and clear my throat, “I uh- read them,” to think that the only time Craig-fucking-Tucker would be bashful in his  _ life _ , would be when he actually needs to open his damn mouth. Real smooth.

Feeling hot under Tweek’s questioning stare I take a deep breath and curse myself inwardly. Tweek doesn’t say anything, prompting me to keep going. With a gulp and sweaty hands, I realize that it’s now or never.

“I read your letters yesterday.”

Tweek’s face gains the colour of a tomato in three seconds flat, a look of horror plastered on his face. “Y-y-you  _ what _ ? Why would- oh lord, Jesus see me through this.”

My fingers draw comforting, tiny circles on the palms of his hands, “it would feel like a waste to never have read them.”

Tweek looks up with bulging eyes, “what do you mean?”

“I-uhm-” feeling hot under the collar, I take another deep breath, “I didn’t read them before yesterday.”

Hands are abruptly retracted from my grasp and Tweek frowns with a huff, “so you ignored them?”

The scornful gaze accompanied by crossed arms make me feel small in the large room, “no I just hadn’t found them before yesterday.”

Tweek doesn’t say anything, instead keeping his peering eyes locked with mine. I don’t know what reaction I expected, but it wasn’t this that’s for sure.

Not knowing what else to say, I have never been known as the master of communication, we stare at each other in silence. Tweek’s face is adorned by a scowl and furrowed brows, blue eyes shimmering like a starry night sky in the light with absolute disgust.

“you-ngh-mean to tell me that once I left you just  _ forgot  _ about me?”

“What-no-I didn’t!” Quickly waving my hands in front of his face, I look through my jumbled mind for an answer that isn’t “ _ I could never forget you, which is why I spent eight years abhorring your very existence.” _

After minutes of agonizing silence, Tweek rolls his eyes and sits down at the piano with a thud, nimbly clinking at the keys. He plays that familiar tune again and I hum along to the nostalgia. Memories of us sharing a stage as kids floods my mind and I close my eyes in content. Of course he would play this song, can’t have romance without a few barf inducing cliches.

“I’m surprised you still remember this song,” I say and take a seat at the empty space next to Tweek. He tenses up as the extra weight is added but quickly composes himself as if nothing happened, resuming the melody with practiced finesse.

“The sheets were left in South Park when I moved, I had to come up with the notes all by myself,” Tweek mutters with a frown, pressing the keys forcefully. “It took me eight years.”

The music slowly stops, being replaced by quiet sniffles. Red, puffy eyes stare expectantly at me through sunny bangs as he hold back another sniffle, wiping the tears with a hiccup.

“Wait- are you  _ crying _ ?”

“No I’m riding a pony. What does it look like, dipshit.”

Tweek doesn’t retract his hand as I place my own over it, “I know I’m stupid. But I also know that my feelings for you were never fake,” he gives me a curious look with raised brows as I continue, “and I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

A small smile forms on his face as his sniffles quiet down and tears stop, “I’m sorry too, for complicating things.”

“Yeah, hiding the letter? What was up with that?”

Tweek snorts and rubs the back if his head with tinted cheeks, “I don’t know man, I was ten. Not my greatest ploy.”

We enjoy the silence together for barely a second before Tweek speaks up, “when did you move?”

“A few months after you left me in the dust.”

Tweek seems lost in thought for a moment, gaze flickering all over the room, “so you really never got the other ones?”

“Nope, not at all.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Tweek relaxes in the seat and turns around to face me wholly, “I thought you ignored me all these years because you hated me.”

“I guess I was a tiny bit bitter about it,” overwhelmed by embarrassment I let out a strained cough, “but hatred is a strong word.”

Tweek snorts and brings his hands to my cheeks, squishing them softly. “I’m gonna cut the bullshit, do you still like me?”

My cheeks heat up under his hands and the soft blow of his breath tickles my face by the close proximity, “I-uh-I mean, yeah? Yeah.”

My body turns to pudding as Tweek closes the distance and touches my nose with his own, biting his lip with a slight twitch. “Hershey’s makes millions of kisses a day, but I only want one from you.”

I nod my head vigorously, praying to God that Tweek can’t hear how fast my heart is beating. The press of his lips against my own is pleasant, his lips soft. We both move rather clumsily, not having had much experience with this sort of thing.

If someone had told me a few weeks ago that I would be kissing Tweek at 7 in the morning inside the school I would have laughed. My resentment towards both Tweek and early mornings would not let that happen in a million years. One of those thoughts have changed though, and I still wouldn’t willingly wake up before 10. This time when Tweek nips at my lips, I don’t push him away.

It’s odd to think of how much can change in such little time. After locking Tweek out of my heart for eight years, he swiftly worms his way back inside in just a few weeks. Maybe that wasn't so bad though. Maybe my complaints haven’t been wholehearted. Maybe I’ve always liked Tweek a little bit more than I thought.

Actually, who am I kidding? I never stopped liking Tweek and that’s a fact. I know it, Tweek knows it, and based on everyone else’s reactions, I’d say they know it too.

I like Tweek, and after eight years of agony he’s finally back.


	16. Cupcakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is here!  
> I've had a lot of fun writing this story, I hope you enjoyed it as well.  
> This is the first fanfic I've ever written and I'd like to know your thoughts now that it's done!

“This is a horrible idea.”

Banners and tassels cover the otherwise white walls. A loud yelp can be heard throughout the room as Clyde loses his footing and falls down onto the floor.

“Dude! Just because you’re a bore that hates fun doesn’t mean Tweek does!” Apparently not faced by the fall, Clyde makes a leap up the steps again.

“Yeah Craig, lighten up,” Token shouts from across the room, catching a breath as he continues to blow the 20th balloon.

“I bet his plan was for them to celebrate alone t-t-t-tonight, if you catch my drift.”

I grab one of the balloons and fling it towards Jimmy, but it doesn’t get very far. Instead of colliding with Jimmy’s smug face and wiping the grin off it, the balloon saunters daintily downwards.

Jimmy snorts at the attempt and resumes the task of blowing balloons alongside Token. The excessive amount of balloons they bought will take hours to blow, which was why I recommend getting two bags instead of twenty.

I wade through the sea of confetti they poured on the floor. Who knew four barrels of confetti was this much? I did, I knew it was this much. But did they listen? No.

“Craig, where are you going?” Comes the muffled question from Token’s balloon filled mouth.

“I’m leaving,” I answer and fling open the door, not greeted with the prettiest sight.

Outside the door the three horrible musketeers are waiting, alongside Kenny. Cartman sports a malicious grin while Kyle rolls his eyes in disgust and Stan sends me a sympathetic smile.

“The guests of honor are here now!”

“This isn’t your party, fat ass,” Kyle hisses back with a jab to Cartman’s side. They march in like they own the place and place an excessive amount of bottles on the table.

A finger taps my shoulder and I groan, “what?”

“Someone’s grumpy,” Kenny says with a snicker, “though I’ll leave if you ask nicely.”

Cartman throws himself on multiple balloons, filling the room with the unpleasant sound of popping loud as an earthquake. Kyle yells profanities at the fat fuck and Stan opens his second bottle. “I’d rather have five of you here than either of your shitty friends, thanks.”

“Truly, I’m touched,” Kenny answers with a pat to my back and joins the calamity his associates started.

I close shut the door with a reluctant sigh and roll my eyes as I lay down on the floor, letting the confetti consume me. According to our birthday policy, no members outside of our little group are supposed to join the celebration, _especially not_ the four fucking horsemen of the apocalypse.

The room is unnecessarily loud, making the ringing of the doorbell barely audible. Instead of opening the door like a decent human being, I opt to stay in my spot and let someone else do it.

As expected, no one else in this godforsaken room heard the loud ringing. I stomp towards the door with a groan, making sure to slam the door open with extra force, “what?”

On the other side stands Tweek, finger resting on the doorbell. This is by no means a fancy party, but Tweek still looks properly dressed unlike some other people. He’s wearing a striped dress-shirt underneath a green cardigan, making me somewhat regret the shoddy hoodie I picked.

The silver shimmer from his necklace is on full display over his clothes, not tucked away like many times before. I glance towards my own necklace, also on display for the whole world to see. It was a bit embarrassing at first, and with _a bit_ I mean _a lot_ , but it would be a lie to say I haven’t grown fond of it by now.

“I was invited, asshole,” Tweek says and playfully punches my arm.

The moment Tweek places his feet inside the door, confetti is being shot and whistles are being blown. Startled by the sudden noise, Tweek stumbles back and quickly grabs my arm to drag us both down. The annoying sounds of blowing whistles and popping confetti grows louder as everyone moves closer, looking down on us from above.

“Happy birthday, Tweek!”

* * *

  

The time is five past twelve when me and Tweek can finally escape the drunk degenerates we’d be reluctant to call friends. Token took it upon himself to supervise the intoxicated toddlers as I pulled Tweek out the door, not wasting any time saying goodbye. The cold night air makes our breaths foggy as we walk down the road. Slender fingers worm their way into my closed hand and my cheeks grow warm at the contact. Holding hands has become a standard ever since that morning in the music room, but I still can’t stop the butterflies from fluttering in my stomach as Tweek tightens his grasp with trembling fingers.

“Are you cold?”

“Well, no, just- maybe a little?” Tweek says and shudders slightly.

“Tough luck, man,” I answer with a shrug.

“Aren’t you going to offer me your jacket?” Tweek huffs with feigned offense.

“Fuck no, then I’d be the one freezing.”

Tweek snorts and shuffles closer to my side, probably to steal what little warmth I have left. We walk in silence, the only sound coming from a few passing cars and the blowing wind. It hasn’t been long since the morning in the music room, or since Tweek came back to South Park, but it still feels like we’ve been doing this forever. Granted, holding hands is usually not considered a very big feat, but I’m fond of baby steps.

Tweek gingerly takes a bite out of the cupcake he brought from the party. I’m definitely no chef, but after five tries the batch came out alright. I find myself sighing in relief when Tweek lets out a content hum between bites, finishing by licking the frosting of his fingers. “Not the best I’ve had, but the effort is appreciated.”

“I never claimed to be a good cook.”

“You may not have the cooking skills,” Tweek leans in close enough for the smell of frosting to cloud my mind, “but you bake me very happy.”

He giggles as I push him away, obnoxiously satisfied by the blush gracing my face.

We walk past the school when Tweek lets out a gasp next to me, “what?”

He looks me dead in the eye and points towards the school, “wanna raid it?”

I blink one, two times in confusion and furrow my brows, “uh, no?” Following Tweek’s finger to the doors I notice that they’re slightly ajar, despite the building being obviously empty.

“The janitors never lock the doors. I’m not sure if they’re stupid or just don’t care, but this is South Park so it could be either.”

“Or both,” I add with a nod.

The school disappears behind the trees as we walk past. Tweek hums a jolly tune with a pep in his step, bobbing his head from side to side to the rhythm. It’s one of the songs he wrote about in this letters. After clearing the misunderstandings he wanted to play them all for me, since that’s why he learned them in the first place. He has tried teaching me a few, but let’s just say playing the piano is a bit harder than listening to it.

While I might be terrible at instruments and have no idea how to read sheet music, I still kept all of the sheets he sent me over the years. They were a part of the letters after all, all of which I have stored in a box under my bed. I once asked Tweek if he wanted to see them but he quickly said no, insisting that it would be way too humiliating to read his ten year old thoughts now that eight years have passed.

“I’ve wondered for a while now, why do you find the letters so embarrassing?”

Tweek stops dead in his track and releases my hand to fiddle his thumbs, eyes darting everywhere. “Because! They’re just corny love letters! It’s cringy!”

“Are you implying that loving me is cringy?”

“Yeah man,” Tweek snorts as I feign offense at his harsh words.

Turning around, I grab his hands with a smile. Tweek locks his eyes with mine, waiting for a reaction. I feel hot under his stare and clear my throat with a blush. “I never answered your letters.”

Expression going from curious to confused, Tweek quirks a brow, “yeah?”

“This has been long overdue, but you know what they say, better late than never.” I unfold his hands and let my fingers grace over the contents of my pockets. Tweek watches intently as I place the smooth paper on his palms.

“This,” I can feel the soft breeze gently whizzing by as blue eyes carefully observe my next move. Tenderly closing my fingers around Tweek’s hands, I return his glance with a smile.

“Is my letter to you.”


End file.
